by Emma Davis
For Sale: Old notebooks, filled with failed drawings of birds and flowers and my sister’s stuffed animals. Slightly used, with pages torn from the back and somewhere in the middle, because the words on those pages were the only thing I could create that took the shape of something more than scribbled black lines of ink and graphite. But it doesn’t matter to me anymore. You can judge for yourself whether or not they look like birds and flowers and my sister’s stuffed animals or not.
For Sale: Bone, cracked and broken, split down the center like the shell of a nut, aged by moist brown dirt and sugar-colored sand that tastes nothing at all like sugar. Maybe it was part of a dog, maybe not. My dad and I were never too sure, because it broke in my small hands as soon as I picked it up off of the cold sugary sand of my backyard. Used, so be careful not to drop it. But it doesn’t really matter, because nothing can break a young girl’s infatuation with the bones that lie beneath the sugary sand.
For Sale: Every word that I have ever written, on my skin, on lined white paper, on my walls with pencils so that I could erase them later, on note-cards, on frail wooden fence pickets that had fallen down a long time ago but remained lying in the sugary sand of my backyard, and on the sugary sand underneath them. Don’t tell me what you think of my half-baked stories that were never completed because they were in first person and I had already killed the main character, of the overly-poetic poems, of the essays with no theses, and of the memoirs made of disjointed thoughts and memories that might have been dreams or fantasies composed like symphonies while I tried to fall asleep. Don’t tell me, because I already know, because I’ve already read them so many times, edited them so many times, and I know what you will say. Extremely used, with red and black and blue lines covering bruised, bloodied, discarded words that I killed because they didn’t work out because they didn’t fit with the rest. Be careful with them, frame them on your wall or hide them in a box under your bed, because they are all that I have ever had.