prized possession

i’ve always been careless with my possessions. i don’t believe that possessions have any value after they’ve been purchased. the monetary value — the cost — is no longer applicable once it’s yours and the tags are removed. the only value left is the value that you yourself imbue in them. so perhaps it isn’t surprising that i’ve left several pairs of sunglasses and headphones in taxis and movie theaters, marking the city with lost items like a dog marking its territory; or that i’ve left several books in the back pockets of airplane seats; or that i seem to misplace or break cosmetics on a weekly basis; or that my jewelry mysteriously disappears.

and so, there aren’t many things i would save in a fire. there aren’t many things that i consider worth saving at all. it’s almost a frightening realization. only objects that are inherently of sentimental value can conjure up sentiments in me. maybe it’s a failure of the imagination. maybe it’s a hardening of the soul through years of loss and losing, through lack of place and misplacing. maybe it’s because i carry within me the heart of a nomad, a wistful need to wander. but why should a transient life involve anything more than transient during the act of living? what possession could be so deserving?

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nothing depends upon / three hundred dollar sunglasses / misplaced and replaced — repeat /as temporary as life itself

nothing depends upon / things i can hold in my hand /rabbit in the hat tricks / disappearing acts

so much depends upon / the imagination / constructing meaning / for your red wheelbarrow and your white chickens