- When one begins to gather “fragments of blue dense,” one might think one is paying tribute to the blue wholes from which they came. But a bouquet is no homage to the bush. Over the years I have amassed countless blue stones, blue shards of glass, blue marbles, trampled blue photographs peeled off sidewalks, pieces of blue rubble from broken buildings, and though I can’t remember where most of them came from, I love them nonetheless. – Maggie Nelson
Every evening I stroll out to my car, throw my ladder, gloves, and crowbar into the back, and drive to the goldmine. The ladder, which I lazily never tie down, slides and rattles in my car’s interior with every turn. I try to leave at around 7:45pm, knowing that it will be 8pm by the time I reach my destination; the exact moment when all the employees who work at the goldmine go home for the day. While I am rarely concerned with others noticing my presence, I do try to make my desires unobtrusive for others. After a brief drive I reach my point of interest, giddy with excitement. The clock strikes 8pm and all is clear; my window of opportunity begins.
I pull my car around to the back of the complex where the goldmine entrance lays; Its rusted brown walls reflecting the evening sunset as I approach. Blurs of foreign objects protruding from the entrance come into focus as I park my car alongside it. It’s going to be a fruitful evening. With roughly an hour of sunlight left at my disposal, there’s no time for me to waste; I get to work. My first priority is to scout out the goldmine and observe the general contents left that day. Will the goldmine make me rich beyond my wildest dreams, or will I go for broke? Fortunately today, it appears that many treasures await me. With a smile freshly formed on my face, I retrieve my ladder and dawn my gloves.
As I sift through the piles of clutter and dirt, I start to pull out pieces of gold. Broken table legs, outdated electronics, storage containers, children’s toys, memories, experiences, time. Each piece of gold confines in me its desire to become something more; more than mere memories remembered by no one. Like a child picking out their first dog at a pet store, I feel somewhat heartbroken as I am forced to pick and choose who gets to be removed from the goldmine, and who will remain. If I had my way I would certainly take them all, but space and transportation limits me. With a pile of gold growing at the base of my ladder, and the sun slowly falling below the horizon, I decide to call it a day. The treasures I obtained are joyful to leave the goldmine, and I am joyful for their existence and future life. A loud thud echoes as I close up my car and drive away, only to return to the goldmine the next evening.