Today, my professor walked out,
then back into the classroom
When I was young, excitement embodied my soul
like an embellished Christmas tree of happiness
At that age, I would have created an eminent fabrication,
such as walking back into the room
eventuates a new beginning
or maybe she was melancholy, and walking in
and out of a room eradicates her unpleasant mood,
like when you move the furniture around your house,
in order to adjust a grim, atmospheric emotion

This would have been joyfully amusing when I was young
Thoughts cascaded from my head and blossoming heart
as easy as a raindrop breaking apart
when slamming the ground
this was a lifetime ago
before He jumped off the father train
before I spent all free time vacuuming up
the pieces of mom’s fragmentized heart
now, here I am, nineteen years old
executing endless labor to
keep our house from running away
attempting the role of a second mother
to a younger, disconsolate girl
repeating the same thing every day,
I watch time go by faster than the petals fall off roses

when I was young I would have written this poem
with exorbitant talent
and an eagerness that encompassed the room
with remarkable vibrancy
but I am nineteen now, sometimes I’m fifty
and all I can see, is that my professor walked out,
then back into the classroom