tic tacs

Photo by Plato Terentev on Pexels

trading tic tacs with my old 
high school basketball friend, 
riding in a giant uber van 
with him and twenty of his fam 
he picks me up downtown 
and says we’re going to magicland 
bags are packed, money in my pockets 
I’m wearing the robes of a shaolin monk 
but magicland is an overrun train station 
where dozens of families are living after the fall 
I meet up with my girlfriend, she’s there 
sitting on a dirty bench, and we kiss 
like we haven’t seen each other in weeks 
because we haven’t, my dry lips melt 
into hers and I’m quenched by her tides — 
I’m calmed by her eyes…
and her voice…
go ahead just try and get back to a version 
of yourself that doesn’t seem to exist anymore, 
see what happens, it’s a losing battle, 
and why would you want to…
you can’t resurrect cells that have died…
once a thing changes, it rarely reverts back 
to its previous state so easily…
the frog can’t regrow its tail — 
the butterfly can’t start crawling around 
in the dirt again, and why would it want to…
so tell me, why would you want to go back 
to your old and stupid shell, 
even if that shell is idealized by 
the ghosts of friends hovering around you 
in the night…
even if in theory your youth was grand, 
maybe it was the easiest you ever had it, 
when you were your brightest and most pretty, 
maybe you felt relentless and untouchable, 
but were you? wasn’t that some kind of illusion too…
it’s as much of a dead self as those interred, 
and failing to recognize that even the living 
are prone to many lives is a failing of our world, 
so we should honor our present selves, 
our old, limping, ugly, barely-getting-by, 
cloudy eyed and scratchy voiced, 
scary in the mornings, and scarier sitting up 
till dawn tossing in our worry valley sleepy dressing 
wishing we could feel indestructible again 
but that’s the trick of consciousness 
we can always be broken 
we can always self-destruct 
at any moment…
but we will rebuild ourselves, somehow, someway 
with time and patience and love, 
and we will embody a new form, 
we’ve lost some features, but inevitably we gain 
a few more, even if it’s to compensate, 
even if we’re heavier somehow 
for having been disappointed

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Garbage Notes:

This poem starts out as pure dream imagery. Most of it won’t make sense to anyone. But it then reaches a point that it makes complete sense, and it’s about something we can all relate to: aging, changing, evolving.

Vacillating between the nonsensical and the brutally real is something I enjoy doing. I think it catches people off guard. In this piece, you’re kind of lulled to sleep a little by the absurd imagery and then you’re woken right back up by the challenge to ‘go ahead, just try and go back to a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore.” Not so easy, right?

I’m in my thirties now. I can’t do all the things I used to be able to do in my twenties. And I know that soon in my forties and fifties there will undoubtedly be some things I won’t be able to do as well as I do now.

Even if it’s just a matter of other people’s perception of your abilities changing—there’s a tangible shift, and you start to think you’re not the person you used to be. But the poem challenges the notion that what comes later is inferior to what came before. In many ways, we evolve into more refined and competent creatures than we ever were.

I love the line where I challenge the reader by saying, “why would you want to go back 
to your old and stupid shell? even if that shell is idealized by the ghosts of friends hovering around you.” This makes me think of people who have lost relevance in my life merely because they were unable to adapt to a newer version of me.

If the people around you can’t accept the fact that you’re doing new things. Or if they have a hard time supporting you in your goal of taking on new challenges, or prioritizing life in different ways. Maybe you’re defining your own success differently than you used to. Not everyone is going to be on board with that. If they can’t follow you on that path of reinvention, then you might have to think about leaving them behind.

I really like ending with a phrase like, “we will rebuild ourselves, somehow, someway 
with time and patience and love.” It shows that change can come from the inside out. That it can be a choice. That we can heal by allowing ourselves to be whatever our internal voice wants us to be. You should always be listening to that voice inside you, and learn about how it wants you to adapt and become a better person.

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Franco Amati 2024

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