Poetry by Albert Vo Evans

Edited by Heather Wilson

I can’t remember much from my childhood.

Memories often comprised of the loud silence of my home

accompanied by overly attached flies,

nagging incessantly at me with uneasy dissonance.

The solitude was asphyxiating—the silence drowning

and my mind was caught in a whirlwind of uneasy boredom.

My body drifted to the digits on a sticky note,

numbers I could never seem to remember.

Yet I recognized the sweet melody that sang from the landline

orchestrated by my fingers to the dial,

and the sweet familiar voice that followed.

I’d ask for short stories, and she would recite them.

I’d ask for math problems, and she would entertain them.

And she would always make the time.

I grew older.

My apartment—devoid of the disoriented hum of the flies.

I memorized the digits, but the childhood melody was long forgotten,

and the silence, now somber, lingers desperately the same.

Maybe I should have listened to the flies.

For I miss the sweet sound of their hum that serenaded from the dial drum.

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Artist Statement: It’s funny how we remember some particular things from our childhood. Vague images of the home decor, cultural ornaments scattered around, small portions of food covered in saran wrap, and the metal tin filled with utensils and chopsticks. I still remember the placement of the sticky notes my mom would leave on the wall reminding us to do chores, the time when the garbage man stopped by, and her phone number. “Sticky Note” is a bitter-sweet story of growing up, reminiscing on the romanticized peaceful past as we slowly drift away from old friends and family into adulthood—a story dedicated to the struggling parent(s) who wouldn’t bat an eye to give you the time of day. Nostalgia is a paradox. We don’t appreciate the current until it’s in the past, and sometimes all we are left with is the memory of a tune from the landline dial.