Archival Treasury: Apprenticeship

noah ma
After Richie Hofmann

These long-dead people’s memories flat 
against plastic, shadows inverted, sepia
sleeved in parchment. The age bleached

faces of children. Tea colored boxes labeled: 
unidentified. In the back of the room, roller skates 
cloaked with dust, pale pink ballet skirts limp 

on splintered hangers, they look white on 35mm film—
the archivist complains about thinking
they were lost this whole time. She teaches me, 

during our hunt for G. Crumb, how to know people 
from their ear lobes and catch ghosts. On the shelf: 
scrapbooks, hidden between Crescendo pages. Inside: birch bark,

ice cream coupons and cartoons; John’s diary, 1965. I read 
about the hornets under his cabin, the bear
by the lake or how he climbed up the Kresge roof. Next door: 

the last breaths of the Conn-O-Sax ringing 
through the card-reader locked doors. Tired horns. 
A ghost in the mouth of an antique trombone.

Noah Ma (they/them) is a junior at Interlochen Arts Academy. They like Monster tabs and other shiny objects.