it will take more than a new day to erase tonight's moon ¶ 10:37 PM |

Dear Elle,


I feel like I'm slowly...very slowly...becoming more in control of my daily existential crises. Recognizing the absurdity of absolutely everything. Taking pleasure in it.


I didn't write this poem for you per se, but upon completing and editing it, I feel like you might be able to "get it" moreso than other folks. For whatever that's worth.


I should probably call you one of these days. Find out what's really going on in your life.



college, in winter
_______

in the dead of february,
it was clear to me that the
coldness of the air, and the
haunting overcast outside my
window next to the highway, was
exactly what my sixteen year-old
mind wanted college to be like,
just five years ago.

it understood the brown-gray
slushmarks in my apartment's lobby,
and the howling wind you could hear
through the dry-wall. the broken car,
laden with crumbling icicles sprinkled
with salt.

my own mind
knew these little details inside and out.

it understood college was not
class, attendance, parking, or annotated
bibliographies. instead, my own mind

concentrated on walking over
black ice on the steps, seeing
familiar patches of muddy grass
where water drains, and watching
snowflakes fall like cigarette ashes,
illuminated by the highway's orange
lights.

each morning, these little details
stood with me, outside, under clouds;
they were what I remembered
about college, as the sharp, biting
currents whipped through the air,
speaking in quiet tones, like the
low rumbling of a passing freight:
"this is it. this is what you've
been waiting for." ¶ 3:26 AM |