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"precalc" poems
it was the hooded-sweatshirt, sit-close-and-pretend-you’re-cold, bleacher-seat, whiskey-and-coke homecoming that you never had when the leaves changed. but the leaves changed anyway. the damp grass smelling vaguely like your fireplace as the world got quieter, your nose in your precalc and your foot tapping and how-many-years-left of solo fridays, you counted the suburban stars but didn’t tell anybody how ******* beautiful they were above your head, because they were yours. when you wore your high school colors, you were cold for real. no pretense in your shivering, no flutter in your abdomen because he wasn’t gonna talk to you, and you didn’t really care, you shrugged. but the leaves changed anyway. and you changed, slowly. grew taller and smarter and prettier and then the remaining solo fridays shrank to none, and you left. big sweet snowdrifts turned to spring and you shared whiskey-and-coke with the city, your stars dimmer but abdomen finally fuller, and limbs warmer and no sweatshirt because you didn’t need one, and hands all over to hold and feeling all three kinds of love at once. and then the accidental homecoming, and the changing of the leaves and the hooded-sweatshirt shivers and knowing you’re so much bigger now than the suburban stars and the backward glances of the bleacher-seat kids, but the damp grass still smells like your fireplace and suddenly you’re small again, just for a second but god that second, you shiver and turn around again. you’re so much bigger than this but homecoming, this whiskey-and-coke homecoming still isn't yours.
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
cr1090
Homecoming
it was the hooded-sweatshirt, sit-close-and-pretend-you’re-cold, bleacher-seat, whiskey-and-coke homecoming that you never had when the leaves changed. but the leaves changed anyway. the damp grass smelling vaguely like your fireplace as the world got quieter, your nose in your precalc and your foot tapping and how-many-years-left of solo fridays, you counted the suburban stars but didn’t tell anybody how ******* beautiful they were above your head, because they were yours. when you wore your high school colors, you were cold for real. no pretense in your shivering, no flutter in your abdomen because he wasn’t gonna talk to you, and you didn’t really care, you shrugged. but the leaves changed anyway. and you changed, slowly. grew taller and smarter and prettier and then the remaining solo fridays shrank to none, and you left. big sweet snowdrifts turned to spring and you shared whiskey-and-coke with the city, your stars dimmer but abdomen finally fuller, and limbs warmer and no sweatshirt because you didn’t need one, and hands all over to hold and feeling all three kinds of love at once. and then the accidental homecoming, and the changing of the leaves and the hooded-sweatshirt shivers and knowing you’re so much bigger now than the suburban stars and the backward glances of the bleacher-seat kids, but the damp grass still smells like your fireplace and suddenly you’re small again, just for a second but god that second, you shiver and turn around again. you’re so much bigger than this but homecoming, this whiskey-and-coke homecoming still isn't yours.
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21
It's been 4 weeks exactly. That's 28 days. but in these past 28 days, you've crossed my mind more than 28 times. Far more. I pretend to listen in AP Lang, but, really, i just sit there and wonder how you are, if you're moving on, or if you're already there. . . i worry that you're not getting enough rest, and that you're having bad dreams. i wonder if you see beauty in the world like you used to. I wonder if you're keeping up with precalc, and taking your melatonin so your pesky insomnia won't keep you up.. Remember how you never used to take it? Because you could fall asleep without trouble as long as you heard my voice that night. You fell in love with a voice, and then me. It's really kind of silly. But then again, so did i. I've read your latest poems, and they both made me cry. My eyes have leaked many times since I last heard your voice. . . But don't worry, I'm not angry. I just wonder about you, and hope you're well, or at least getting there. But most of all, I wonder if you ever think of me.
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Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
jrg123
Day 28.
It's been 4 weeks exactly. That's 28 days. but in these past 28 days, you've crossed my mind more than 28 times. Far more. I pretend to listen in AP Lang, but, really, i just sit there and wonder how you are, if you're moving on, or if you're already there. . . i worry that you're not getting enough rest, and that you're having bad dreams. i wonder if you see beauty in the world like you used to. I wonder if you're keeping up with precalc, and taking your melatonin so your pesky insomnia won't keep you up.. Remember how you never used to take it? Because you could fall asleep without trouble as long as you heard my voice that night. You fell in love with a voice, and then me. It's really kind of silly. But then again, so did i. I've read your latest poems, and they both made me cry. My eyes have leaked many times since I last heard your voice. . . But don't worry, I'm not angry. I just wonder about you, and hope you're well, or at least getting there. But most of all, I wonder if you ever think of me.
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