Poem: My Roommates are the Sounds of Six Little Jellyfish

There was this desk on the wall

in my room as a kid

that sat beneath a small, little window.


And when I sat there at night

doing homework, sometimes I would get up

and stand on its surface

scraping my fingers at the edge

of the porthole, just to see

if I could pull myself up.


It was weird.  I never made it,

but one day I came in and there

was this big, open birdcage on the edge

of that desk with nothing inside,

but origami swans, folded

out of the newspaper that was strewn

along the bottom.

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