Relics of the War

Yesterday we disinterred the Box of Great Unmaking

Buried by the first generation

Revered by the second generation

Forbidden by the third

Forgotten by the fourth

Remembered by us, the curious children

A forest had grown around the mound

the memorial plate covered in vines and years of rain-fed moss

Rumors had raced through the community

Of what had slept so patiently beneath the soil

Some hoped it was the lost secrets of healing

Others, the dynamos of legend

We heard whispers of totems, tools, clothing, and junk magic

But with sly glances we recognized the greatest hope -

of history

Year One was yesterday

We’ve been living in Zero

Our ancestors returning to nothing and babies born into a void

We longed for pictures and names, records and ultimately, stories

We had spent so long

Learning not to be –

Our preservative need to feel placed

to leave more than filled footprints

Our purpose was vital to any efforts of continuance

In a small ceremony we felt the absence of official speeches in a world absent of officials

The eldest gathered and dug in fingers, wrenching the rusted lid up and off

Unleashing innumerable white butterflies that quickly returned to lifeless scraps

Filled with desperate scrawling letters

Covered in lines that marched like nervous ants

Front and back

Enough words to fill our mouths with months of speaking

If only we had lost our language as well as our history

If only we had lost our sight, as well as our heritage

We are the curious children

And we had spurned the gift of innocence

Each vile trespass of our mothers and fathers bled from the paper and invaded our minds

In an infection that threatened to spread

As we read of the last war

We could not re-tomb the box fast enough

Pregnant with its wicked deeds and evil things

The marker has been thrown into a lake unplumbed

Volunteers will lie as guardians by the fresh mound,

willingly succumbing to the final fade

Yesterday was Year One

Today we return to Zero

and try again to un-remember