Brian Le-Nguyen

Ode to Paper

by Brian Le-Nguyen

Our history stretches as far as the spruce branches

from which you spawned. An arboreal

lineage cultivates redwood strength, body reused and reprocessed

through a perpetual cycle of pink eraser swabs.

And while my present pencil pictures fall flat,

your multitude of aged faces smiles

with the beaming boys and grinning girls

that I crayoned with my friends

in elementary school.

I fertilize my budding imagination

between your 8.5x11inch borders. Your pristine,

flawless form smudged and inked. My reveries

made reality with each line of Ticonderoga pencil.

Watercolor, acrylic, cheap RoseArt rainbow, I fill

your clouds that shine goldfinch and peony from the raindrops

of my tears. You carry the burden of my past

in your folded airplane heart, slicing through

dense air as if taking my emotions to crash

into the bubble-filled bath where I once sailed

sticky note ships.

That blank, stoic expression, silent snow pummeled

by my endless saline strokes, personal palette permeates

your skin like the black ink of a Sharpie pen.

I scribe rhymes and rhythms with the images

that play through the photo album of my memory.

Diaristic depth is reached when I’m with you,

my lines and verses coincide with each indescribable

thought I write. And while you're exploited by harsh

abuse in corporate printers and copying machines,

my hands spoon an origami crane, a thousand

sheets for a wish to relive the immortal memories

that're beautifully etched on your skin.

Author’s Note: I never took creative writing seriously until I came into my teen years. Rhyme schemes and alliteration held no substance in my callow mind. It was when I saw past the surface that I could truly understand and appreciate poetry and narrative works. The experiences that seemed to stain my memory washed off so easily through writing. I find it so incredible that writers and artists can create the most beautiful pieces, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.