top of page

Paper Airplane Memories

A poem.

I’ll keep shoving old toys into new boxes, because age and time itself deem them outdated, but they’re still the most beautiful things I’ve seen, and I don’t want to let them go just yet.

I cry with no shame as doll, after stuffed animal, after building block is ripped from my fingers that grow weaker each day until I can’t hold onto them any longer.

I’ll reach for paper. Its blank now like the void of my mind. My fingers tremble at the edges that feel like the beginnings of a wonderful dream and smell like Saturday sun through open windows.

The white begins to lose its intimidating nothing, no longer a void but an invitation, a beckoning to write, to show, to say whatever I want.

I reach for the drawer, covered in stickers, now ripped and faded. It sticks with apple juice stains, but when it opens I’m consumed by memories of rainy window pains and cartoons softly whirring. Worlds unfold before my eyes as if I’m there now where dragons flew and stars made wishes come true. All from one scent.

I grab them by the fistfuls, rainbows in my hands. I bring them down on the paper and let the colors run. I release the chains on my fingers and just let the colors do their work. I avoid black at first, but then I draw a dot. Maybe it’s me and maybe thats okay. Because if it’s me, I am a black speck surrounded by a world of color... Instead of the other way around.

Fingers fumbling, I find it hard at first, but then I remember how it feels and I start the first folds. Fold after fold, I crease the edges, waxy now with so much color.

Finally, my paper airplane is complete and soon we’ll take to the sky.

Ellie Maureen



bottom of page