You,
mix tape, begin in the gut. Borne of butterflies, of goose flesh, of feeling seen. You inspire flight: a defiance of gravity a launch across the room to hit record. You are a love letter to my Dear Self, a mix of truth and lies, as love letters always are, promises about who I could be if my life were lived in harmony. You are a photograph of fear and faith, of risk and reward. You are a record of time spent thinking of me. You are a message from some long ago civilization from to about a stranger. Like youth, like young love, you, mix tape, are fragile. You are an unspooling of the past. You catch and snag on hungry teeth. You are re-emboweled with panicked pencils. But time and technology march on and even though your notes remain, nothing will play you anymore. Written by Sarah Honore for a WITS Writing Workshop, 2018
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AuthorTeacher of English, curriculum writer, conductor of literacy experiments. Archives
December 2021
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