by Grace Sinkins
Your earliest memories,
Consist of turning the yellowing pages of fashion magazines,
In the hair salon your mom owned in the early twenty tens.
Back when there was space for the locals down town.
Pretty woman with thick bangs and dangling earrings,
The epitome of the standards held by women in Katy Perry’s United States;
Taught us about global politics in a suburban setting.
Exchanging silly bands in crowded laundromats,
While our parents fought over quarters.
Never learning the names of the best friends you met at impromptu play- dates.
Going to school to learn how to count to twenty,
Unbelievable that the numbers can get that much bigger.
Time seems to move at the pace of a tortoise.
Paper cuts from university pamphlets,
You give out to incoming freshman in a town across the continent.
Only learning childhood stories told by artificial intelligence on the internet.
Biggest worry now for the next generation is where to hide in the classroom.
The battle is in our backyards.
Wounded kids on the front porches,
We used to drink sweet tea on.
Childhood is a tainted memory.
Our kids won’t have an option of growing up.
Apartments are empty because the people don’t have enough money for a roof and four walls.
Moving away to afford rental space.
My generation had no idea that we would die out by our own doing;
Way before we could become grandparents.
Grace Sinkins is an eighteen years old poet who loves vintage cowboy boots and thrifting oversized sweaters that once belonged to a grandfather. Grace has been published in numerous magazines such as Corporeal lit, Meditating cat Zine, and Meadow mouse Zine. Grace hopes that her words can somehow make an impact on your day. You can find her in your local coffee shop or on Instagram @gracexlizzie.