This is the eighth installment of a ten part poetry/prose series I wrote a few months ago titled Hours. I wrote the series over the course of one night into the next morning as a project. Each individual part is titled according to the time at which I began writing the piece and makes for a kind of documentation of my thought process throughout the night. And after much editing, here it is.

3:27 AM

Remember when TV had as many channels as our age? Remember PBS Kids? Arthur? That episode about the snow-day and how it captured childhood like a pretty butterfly in a jar? Remember D. W.’s snowball? You know, that perfect sphere of white placed in the freezer on a perfect blue plate?

Remember the episode it disappeared and they couldn’t figure out who took it?

I melted D. W.’s snowball.

I stole into her freezer seizing the priceless white sphere. A single moment of purity, clustered crystallized laughter of sweetest notes. A sample of preserved perfect wonder.

It glistened giggling in my palm, naïve and space bound.

It splattered, screaming splayed crystal shards, as I spit curses of seething cynicism. Stomping sky-diamonds that would shine no more.

Searing sentences, melting tear tracks, and shouting sobs.

I melted D. W.’s snowball because I melted my own.

Because I was told my snowball was silly.

Because I do what I’m told.


Photo by Mara Ket on Unsplash

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