In a matter of hours taxis will come and whisk away many of my fellow residency friends while the rest of us sleep. Those who haven’t already left will wake up for a last somber breakfast in the cafeteria before a final packing in the room, a double-check to make sure we didn’t miss anything, a hasty run through the showers. We have said our goodbyes several times throughout the day, unsure when we would last see each other. The forces that brought us all together, the in-person portion of this educational experience, will now release us like the seeds from a dandelion clock.
In the reading room at school, full of old books on 60’s politics and psychology, I spotted a collection of haiku and landed on the following poem by Issa.
for one who says,
“i am tired of children,”
there are no flowers
We have spent the past week and a half dissecting Hemingway’s dialog and quoting Eliot at will. We danced until soaked with sweat and stayed up when we should have slept. We picnicked on the lawn, fanned away flies and heat at lectures, and workshopped each other with vigor and admiration.
As we leave, we find ourselves midair again, having leaped from the diving board with an eye toward the water below.
Now we get to work.
Poetry Friday. It’s going down at Reading and Writing this week at Writing and Ruminating.