By Brandon Oppenheim

a sign on the wall reads

‘temporary home’

then continues to read

how long you can stay

a hippo named scout

says to his mate

‘now there’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one ‘

meanwhile the mate starts to tremble

scout says home by definition is permanent

is static is stoic and steadfastly rooted

meanwhile the mate starts to shimmer

scout says I remember long ago

when I moved around

never found what I could call home

just places to live

just places to exist

the mate morphs

scout says maybe temporary

is the best way to go

being upset helps us

to learn new techniques and to grow

metastasizes

scout looks sadly at the ground

the night’s come on

and the tent flaps are closing

he looks at the wall

and it’s bare

…

in the tent he writes

‘temporary home

in my mind

rent’s automatically deducted

lest you forget when it’s due

lease is longer than you care to know

square footage

will drop

year by year

until you’ve got

nothing

left’

Statement:

Memory is something we hold dear, but often times it isn’t until the light starts to flicker that we start to feel fear. Momentary lapses of judgement are worthy of laughs; our days are so full of content that fragmenting those days doesn’t seem all that terrible of a loss. But scales shift. We forget more than we remember, or thoughts are lost before they are fully formed. Memories become as flimsy as sand sculptures, and equally as graspable. So we wait for the inevitable wave to wash us away. If something is inevitable, do we fight until the last moment, or do we peacefully let it soothe us into its depths? These are all questions that we will hopefully remember to answer.

-Brandon Oppenheim