Elegy to Chewed Tape

My great-grandfather

stands with his daughter

next to the unsown field

of their newest farmstead.

Her short bobbing hair

whipping,

warping̷̦̭̳̞͔̫͖̞͔̉̈̍͗̓̉͛͒̋̌̍̈́́͒͌̈́͑̚͝͠͝,

threading,

into miles of leafy greens.

Where he chases lightning

down a path of oyster shells

and swings my mother

over his left shoulder.

Their faces distort

under running water,

and now he’s holding me!

But just as I hear him

start to speak after saying

my name-name-name-name,

color bends and bleed̷̫̦̪̀͗̐̏̿̀̏̌͆̀̈͝ŝ̶̭͍̭͓̦̔̓̅̇́̋́͐͒͌͜͠

from magnetic decay.

A̶̮̭̜̟͂̏̊̏̎̒͒̃̀̆̃̓̅̈́͝͝ dial-up screen rings out

over a fountain of black tape

spilling onto the floor.̴̧̛͔̝͚̹͉͍̼̙͚̱͇̫̱̼͙̔͊̀̀͆͐̈́͆̉̿͋̆̍̀́͆͊̃́̽̅̽̾̚͠͝

A promise that couldn’t be broken—

or a secret that was mine to hold—

lies somewhere in between

metal teeth and the fold.