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About seven years ago, when I was cleaning out a closet, I came across a few things from grade school my mom had kept for me. I was in a purging mood, but I didn't throw away this away what I found. One of the things, a red paper folder, I have kept on my desk. In the top right corner of a red paper folder is written,

Poetry Project

Marie Koscielski

English 8-0 - Mrs. Smith

March 12, 1984

I mean, really. I didn't remember the assignment, but once I flipped through the ten poems, vague memories came streaming back. It is interesting for me to read something my 14-year-old self wrote. Even though life takes shape year after year with added growth and age and knowledge, some natural traits never die. The themes I wrote about then, continue to be themes I write about now. Why would I share these poems with anyone? Well, stranger things are happening these days. Perhaps the current opportunity of extra time at home decluttering and organizing is revealing fond memories of a special event or a past love of some form of creativity. Maybe the discard pile is freeing up space and lightening up the air. Discovering such things is like coming home.

From 1984 as I wrote it:

Sea Images

As I went down to the shore today

I saw the seagulls soaring high

I walked along the beach and enjoyed,

Listening to their cry.

I saw a ship stand proudly in the sea

Far away from shore,

It would be fun to ride on one

I never have before

I saw the golden sun rise slowly

Creeping into the sky

From behind the cotton clouds that float,

Gliding by and by

At last, I sat and saw the moonlight

That reflected onto the silver ocean

The stars surrounded the moon so still

They stood brightly without a motion.

Dear Friend,

Thank you for this opportunity of time, as strange as it is, to reconnect with an unedited version of my pure self. For in this version, I am home.



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