The Life of a Radio Wave

By Esmee, age 12

Just born.

Barely knowing who I am, shaped
To something that I don’t understand,
Sound, music, words.
My wave modulates to its curves.

It contorts me.

Speed calls, and I fly.
Air cannot block me
My siblings follow me,
Racing like light.

First obstacle: wall.
It seems to rush past me so easily,
But it is an early end for some
Going in, but not out.

It scares me.
What did they carry?
The same thing, perhaps?
Who knows.
But I must carry on.

No time to mourn.
Onward, flying
Onward, soaring.


Something shifts as I rush past.
An antenna.
I brush the electrons it holds,
They shift and slide under my grasp.
Slipping around spirals,
Bouncing against a metal disk.

I hear a sound.
It is familiar, like a memory.
I don’t understand,
Sound, music, words.
But I remember.

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