The year I was seventeen, York University in Toronto held their first Symposium, for High School students across Canada. Winners spent a weekend at York presenting their winning entry and generally soaking up the university atmosphere (and, of course, being subtly wooed by the university). In this photo I am with two other winners and two of the Profs involved in the symposium that year.
The boy on my left won for research in medicine, the boy on my right, with glasses, for biology (he also became my boyfriend for 3 years, took me to his prom and I took him to mine.)
My winning entry? For poetry. Afraid I couldn't dig up that entry, but you'll be seeing some of my poetry in upcoming posts. I wrote poetry from - oh, grade two, probably - until I got married. (No one is ever going to see the Grade Two stuff, so don't ask!) When I started writing again, 20 years later, I was more interested in writing fiction, which is what I mostly write now, along with memoir.
But here is the poem I wrote on breaking up with this lovely young man, my first boyfriend:
Autumn Air
Thin and bland
are our
decaffeinated
coffee conversations
as we politely
distance our affections.
Like smokers cutting down
or mallards
preparing for departure,
we recognize
the autumn air
between us.
The boy on my left won for research in medicine, the boy on my right, with glasses, for biology (he also became my boyfriend for 3 years, took me to his prom and I took him to mine.)
My winning entry? For poetry. Afraid I couldn't dig up that entry, but you'll be seeing some of my poetry in upcoming posts. I wrote poetry from - oh, grade two, probably - until I got married. (No one is ever going to see the Grade Two stuff, so don't ask!) When I started writing again, 20 years later, I was more interested in writing fiction, which is what I mostly write now, along with memoir.
But here is the poem I wrote on breaking up with this lovely young man, my first boyfriend:
Autumn Air
Thin and bland
are our
decaffeinated
coffee conversations
as we politely
distance our affections.
Like smokers cutting down
or mallards
preparing for departure,
we recognize
the autumn air
between us.
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