By Chrys Fernandez

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I still have my mom’s old blockbuster card.
Now I know that it’s pointless,

blockbuster is long gone,
that nobody would need such a relic.

I don’t even remember why I have it.

She certainly couldn’t have given it to me,
I certainly don’t need it.

it’s just something there
on my shelf
right next to the broken seashells that I carried home
and tiny bottles of sand from places I’ve never been to.

I realize that there are things and places and worlds that she will never walk on.
Having this card might give me access to places I’ve never dreamed of.

A metro card for a spaceship I could never fly on,

but this time it won’t expire.
Lamented because I’m afraid stardust might create enough friction to remind me of a family far away,
and forgotten.
A collection of memories pounded onto plastic made to last long after I’m gone.

The only thing that survived her death.

I sometimes put it up to the light to check if it’s real.
Ro remind myself that I’ve not imagined a whole piece of history.

Rhat the time we had together was not just a daydream, something that I might have let slip away.

A way for her and I to unit and travel far beyond the funeral home, my bedroom, her urn.

I’m scared that throwing out my mom’s old blockbuster card might mean throwing away the idea that blockbuster might
come back.

Throwing away the idea that my mom might come back.


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