Feb 2021
Golden buildings and cypress trees
Information that held the soul
Intact and nurtured we would go
To the place to learn the art.
It was not about the test,
This understanding would rest,
Forever lingering about us.
Quickly breathing in the morning
A chilly cycle of the afternoon.
A warm smile in the corner
A straight face in the corridor
A moment with you would
make it all better.
Tell me you got that letter
I sent to the back of class.
Information that held the soul
Intact and nurtured we would go
To the place to learn the art.
It was not about the test,
This understanding would rest,
Forever lingering about us.
Quickly breathing in the morning
A chilly cycle of the afternoon.
A warm smile in the corner
A straight face in the corridor
A moment with you would
make it all better.
Tell me you got that letter
I sent to the back of class.
This poem details my senior year of high school. I would ride my bright blue bike to school on the chilly winter mornings, past the golden buildings and the cypress tree next to the water. After my last class, which was art history, I would do it all over again- all the way home. Best year of my life.
(21/F/New York City)
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