Messages fly through the air,
folded notes
and paper planes
carrying secret words,
confessions of love,
and guilt,
and shame.
So innocent;
that creased piece
of loose leaf,
hastily torn
from a binder,
or a notebook,
just to ask the question,
“Do you love me?”
Circle “Yes”,
or circle “No”.
The next moment
anticipation,
of assent,
or denial,
but before it comes,
an aircraft lands
at your feet.
Crudely folded,
fledgling flight,
only crafted to ask,
“Are we hanging out after school?”
and on and on.
The watchful eye of the teacher
meant every flight classified.
Notes passed
clandestine dead drop,
like a spy.
We would pray
we were never compromised,
knowing the fates of kids
who had to eat their words,
lest they be forced to speak them.
How is it now,
with the technology
of near field communication
withering the page?
Do all the notebooks stay untorn?
Does anyone
still know how to make
paper planes?
HG – 2021
I love this! What a great thing to write about. I remember those days. Likely gone forever. ❤️
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I’m in the middle of my life. Hopefully as many years ahead as behind. Trying to share what I see in both directions and feel in the middle.
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