In Search of a Younger Me

Poetry Fridays with Sarah Dittmore (that's me!)

Today’s poem is a little different than what I usually send come Poetry Friday, but it’s one that holds a special place in my heart, so I decided to go ahead and share it with all of you anyway, nonetheless.

I wrote this poem back in 2022 during a time when I was reflecting on how we relate to our inner child. There was a trend on TikTok asking folks to share/consider what their younger selves would think about who they’ve grown into. This led me to reflect on the strange mix of envy, sorrow, and loss that can come up when we work with our inner child, which inspired this poem, In Search of a Younger Me.

The formatting is also a departure from my norm. I wrote this poem while exploring how spacing and format can be used to mirror the energies and emotions of a poem’s words. In this case, the formatting is intended to evoke a sense of always being just a few paces away from where you’re trying to get.

Anyway, thanks for listening to my little monologue. I know this one’s different, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

In Search of a Younger Me

by Sarah Dittmore

I’ve been digging holes in the sand 
trying to find 


-                               -
  -                           -
    -                       -
              her 



The girl
with sun on her cheeks
	and laughter in her eyes.



My fingers are 	raw
from the soft sand’s hidden 
teeth



My shoulders blister 		from the endless assault of
					the sun’s vicious whip 


I fill my bucket with the things I find: 

        broken                   glass	
	    empty           shells 
	       lost sunglasses
	          rusted coins 
	

But I do not find
	
          
           Her.


I’ll try again tomorrow.


 -                               -
   -                           -
     -                       -



In the velvet hour I feel		
my heart crack in two 

I stand to stare in a darkened mirror and see
											a girl.
											covered
in sand.


When the sun rises
	she is gone. 
				and I know the hungry waves	have devoured								what hope I had of finding

                                
                                                      Her.

-                               -
  -                           -
    -                       -


I run cracked fingers over		gnarled scars

Grab fistfuls of stomach rolls and
	trace a web of sunspots across my chest 

And I wonder what I would do if I 					
could hold her, 
          once again. 
 

For surely all that I am can no longer fit in 
all that she was. 


Still.


I go back to the shore as
the sun meets the clouds and

					
                     
 -                               -
   -                           -
     -                       -
       
               dig