“II. (Cardboard Castle) You are in the living room at dusk Haphazard towers of moving boxes rise around you The furniture has been dismantled and You divert your gaze to the underwhelming formation Of cardboard and tape As your mother screams and throws the cat across the room In retrospect, it reminds you of an album cover For some emo basement band A collage of childhood in hues of brown Or a glimpse of red flannel Cardboard castles, a little boy Holding a paper sword Taken on a disposable camera in 2004 And reappropriated for it’s nostalgia in 2016 The boy you caught is not amongst your rescue party You veil your disappointment poorly as you climb into the passenger seat And it filters through the holes in the cloth like grey light You blame the fatigue on your mother alone Though it isn’t entirely her own”
— Maya Duran, 2019
