Poem Boxes
Poem Box #5: Sea Thrift-detail
copper, enamel, paper
2 x 5 x 3.5
2020
No one here is innocent.
I know for certain I am not.
Is it even a real thing?
Newborns, I think, are empty,
And hold so much potential.
But innocence is a myth.
Our responsibility
Is for what we do and don't do,
And for what we leave behind.
Our debris is what we are.
Will our legacy be Art?
Or floating seas of plastic?
Sea thrifts grow along the shore
Inheriting our remnants.