"calibrated" poems - Hello Poetry

Here at Kinkos We have a saying, “copies of copies” You are trained to always ask for a source file The digital file of the picture the camera took The negatives of digital cameras You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner Or a crease in the print out Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements Or simply from time Copies never look as good as the original Even if you try and protect them And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces The next copy still won’t be the same quality A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass Copies of copies are never the same Sometimes the printer is calibrated different Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was I mean where the creases were I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it Memories of memories So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember What I forgot to remember last time What did I forget this time What won’t I remember next time Memories of memories Like copies of copies Fading over time If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life Should I never remember them Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones To remember them often

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Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC

michael-devoe

Copies of Copies

Here at Kinkos We have a saying, “copies of copies” You are trained to always ask for a source file The digital file of the picture the camera took The negatives of digital cameras You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner Or a crease in the print out Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements Or simply from time Copies never look as good as the original Even if you try and protect them And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces The next copy still won’t be the same quality A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass Copies of copies are never the same Sometimes the printer is calibrated different Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was I mean where the creases were I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it Memories of memories So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember What I forgot to remember last time What did I forget this time What won’t I remember next time Memories of memories Like copies of copies Fading over time If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life Should I never remember them Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones To remember them often