I am in University. Love it, love it, LOVE IT! These three years are among the happiest of my life, and I am lucky enough to know it.
Memories of English classes and pub debates, movies and coffee-houses with folksingers or poetry readings, student theatre and dorm pranks, faces of friends i will love forever, cold walks across campus to the library, sitting on the floor along the dorm hallway with my floor-mates, drinking tea and talking, all-nighters to meet essay deadlines, Hallowe'en and Christmas dances, disgusting cafeteria food, and the feeling that anything was possible, that my life could be wonderful...
My creative writing class was in a cement building. One day, the prof told us to write a poem in 10 minutes about anything. I looked around the room, and saw one long narrow window in the corner of the classroom. I am an outside person, a small-town girl who spent most of her childhood out in the hills and trees and rivers. Not a city girl. I look at this single, sad window and I write:
THE WINDOW
In remorse
the architect
slashed
a long, thin wound
into his concrete creation.
The sunlight
leaps in,
glitters fiercely
on the rug.
Overhead
the law-abiding
electricity
hums complacently.
Memories of English classes and pub debates, movies and coffee-houses with folksingers or poetry readings, student theatre and dorm pranks, faces of friends i will love forever, cold walks across campus to the library, sitting on the floor along the dorm hallway with my floor-mates, drinking tea and talking, all-nighters to meet essay deadlines, Hallowe'en and Christmas dances, disgusting cafeteria food, and the feeling that anything was possible, that my life could be wonderful...
My creative writing class was in a cement building. One day, the prof told us to write a poem in 10 minutes about anything. I looked around the room, and saw one long narrow window in the corner of the classroom. I am an outside person, a small-town girl who spent most of her childhood out in the hills and trees and rivers. Not a city girl. I look at this single, sad window and I write:
THE WINDOW
In remorse
the architect
slashed
a long, thin wound
into his concrete creation.
The sunlight
leaps in,
glitters fiercely
on the rug.
Overhead
the law-abiding
electricity
hums complacently.
RSS Feed
