The Reflection Pool

for the elders and the stories they keep

Dust,
in the most primordial meaning of the
word, you and I are found there. Caught in
the swirling wind of dust devils that carry
everything from a McDonald’s burger wrapper
to the siding of our homes. Our dreams, our
passions are but slightly less temporary
than our bodies.

Our refuse, its presence may well surpass
the existence of our planet. Sheets of bubble
wrap and styrofoam coolers will float amongst
dark matter, nebulae, and the space of the
universe around us.

One day, our world will end. Not due to
the pollution and the trash that will
bury the mountains and fill the canyons.
No.
Our world will end because it will no
longer be recognizable to our spirit and
our eyes. Our memories will disappear
and our stories will be held solely by
machines, inducing irrelevancy in our lives.
Our elders will waste away to dust, the
dirt that floats on the air we breathe,
memories, history, and all.