Saturday, June 29, 2024

oh, my angst!

i cleaned today. not the kitchen or the living room. i did the kind of cleaning that finds 8th grade essays and teen angst to light after 15 years! man, i was good. and my angst, so fresh and raw, just like everyone else's. only mine was better, of course.

i found baby pictures, pictures of mel and i in our sunday dresses, a picture of me riding my bike for the very first time, and... my dad in his own mandals circa 1984. embarassing then, sentimental now.

i discovered notecards, slivers of papers, essays (to kill a mockingbird! a separate peace! huck finn!), notes passed between friends, rough drafts, a short story that brought tears to my english teacher's eyes, final copies redlined, the memories! it all sits next to me, in a clear plastic container, like a time vault. our annual creative writing publication, my yearbooks, yellowed notes, doodles, my french vocabulary book, w.h. auden, emerson, thoreau.... right here. dated 1994, 95, 93, i think there's a '90 in there.

i hope you enjoy this little tidbit. more to follow.

so, here it is, my first of several published works, in the 1995 coronado high school canvass literary and fine arts magazine (seriously, that's what it was called)....i present to you...

untitled
i walk down the cold, dark hall
i see the door.
i feel the dread of what the room represents.
i want to turn back,
but i am pushed by the crowd
to open the door.
i enter the room.
people have been here before me.
i can feel the despair they felt.
their fear hangs thick in the air.
the door closes with a deep finality
that echoes in my head.
i watch and count the seconds
until the door is opened.
i am trapped.
there is no way out.
the torture begins.
i try to resist.
i try to keep my eyes open,
but i can't help falling asleep
in history class.

2 comments:

  1. I read this poem to the Middle Child and she shrieked with glee....apparently...just as I suspected...it resonated with her.
    She thinks you are brilliant.

    ReplyDelete