AP english bits
Forgetfulness
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
-- Billy Collins
and yes, that's the same river, the name of which i've been trying to remember for days now. I asked during class, got told "Lethe!" with incredulous looks of 'how could one be so dense?" and was promptly giggled at for saying "god love y'all!"
Cackalackians think Commonwealthers are cute. oyzzle veyzzle.
and wrote this during class...
you are raw.//
short hair spilling down in straight curled, unbrushed glory/
luminescent creamy richdark skin/
crossed denim legs/
ending in brown, white, green plaid, dark blue/
chuck taylor flip birk clog flops//
you are intent/
pen scratching, pencil squeaking, highlighter running, and not bothering because you don't really need to take notes anyway/
you take a moment to ask a question, chuckle over a comment when silently rushing out the door in a flurry/
quietly outspoken as you sharply stumble by in liquid glossy grace//
you are me/
on the last monday in january, the day i woke up glowing/
i am you/
every thursday night when you just don't have time for homework./
we are raw//
what is this thing sisterhood?/
The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.
-- Billy Collins
and yes, that's the same river, the name of which i've been trying to remember for days now. I asked during class, got told "Lethe!" with incredulous looks of 'how could one be so dense?" and was promptly giggled at for saying "god love y'all!"
Cackalackians think Commonwealthers are cute. oyzzle veyzzle.
and wrote this during class...
you are raw.//
short hair spilling down in straight curled, unbrushed glory/
luminescent creamy richdark skin/
crossed denim legs/
ending in brown, white, green plaid, dark blue/
chuck taylor flip birk clog flops//
you are intent/
pen scratching, pencil squeaking, highlighter running, and not bothering because you don't really need to take notes anyway/
you take a moment to ask a question, chuckle over a comment when silently rushing out the door in a flurry/
quietly outspoken as you sharply stumble by in liquid glossy grace//
you are me/
on the last monday in january, the day i woke up glowing/
i am you/
every thursday night when you just don't have time for homework./
we are raw//
what is this thing sisterhood?/