Monday, 18 May 2009

• I made some A's this semester.

    I am checking off the boxes on my degree plan when I realize the end is near.  Then, without permission or regard to my sanity, my imagination takes over and I begin dreaming about grad school.  I don't know what kind of crazy sees the light at the of a tunnel and looks for another tunnel, but I am that kind of crazy.
    I have been doing research into MFA creative writing programs.  They are intimidating to say the least.  But when I read about them my breath only catches for fear that they will not accept me.  I curse myself for caring so little at the beginning of my college career.  I wonder who do I think I am to be so presumptuous.  I can picture myself around the conference table taking others' notes on what I had written and thinking, "I must inspire pity- a small talent wanting so badly to be good."  Then there is that quiet hope that I am good.  There is a tiny voice assuring me I can be better.  It is amazing how such a small sound can carry so far.  Somehow, I am given to belief. 

    Along with the aspiration, however, comes the pure unbridled fear of achieving it.

    Also, I wrote this poem just now:

  Had it been me
  Shackled to a burdening ambition
  Imprisoned by desire
  I would have been impotent
  Useless against a tide of waking dreams

  Yes, had it been me
  Nose to nose with rejection
  Fist formed against adversity
  I would have crumpled
  Out before the first round done

  You know! Had it been me
  Tasting joy in anticipation
  Challenge plated as morning meat
  I could not stomach it
  Starved despite the feast
  
  But you, sweet kindred spirit
  Gentle muse
  You make me a liar
  My name scribbled at the base of the page
  In truth, I would sign yours if I knew it

   

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