The Poetry Snapshot: change in AA

Summer green turns into
vibrant shades of autumn.

This transition happens,
whether I think about it or not.
Whether I want it to or not.

Ann Arbor, Michigan

One morning I notice
my morning walk to class is crisp.

A brisk breeze is hitting my face
and leaves on the ground are
being brushed past my feet
as I walk by freshly carved pumpkins.

I realize I should have worn more layers.
People around me are bundled up
in their scarves and winter boots.

Something about this change feels cozy,
and I cannot help but smile.

I appreciate the beauty of impermanence.
A seasonal love, in a sense.

What a shame it would be,
if summer lasted forever.

 

The Host

Like the Statue of Liberty, the library called,

“Give me your tired, give me your weary” 

A lighthouse, it gleamed in the distance.

It was a sanctuary, 

Their sanctuary,

Home to chairs that were 

Uncomfortable but they had stopped minding

Various Tupperware containers being opened 

Different cuisines fusing into one,

At the same time.

It was a good fusion.

Studying, they tried, eventually, the subjects would 

Merge into one, math and english and science, 

And so many others, the majors were endless,

At this point, though, they were one and all the same.

They tried to force themselves awake,

Taking breaks, they

Watched the football on the television,

But they had watched a hundred games like this one,

And it had yet to become different.

Besides, their mind had entered a dream-like state,

Half-asleep, they ate their dinner.

It was impersonal, cooked by someone they didn’t know,

Not to say it wasn’t good, 

Because it was, 

But they missed home, a little bit.

Eventually, they couldn’t resist the pull of gravity,

They laid their heads on their books

And their eyes begin to flutter

Still, they tried to keep awake, realizing that they had been tricked

The library was courteous, a gentleman,

It tiptoed around them 

Cast sparkling shadows from the sunset

Onto their faces,

And lulled them to sleep.

The Poetry Snapshot: standing is falling

A step in any direction could lead her down such different paths,
that sometimes it seems easier to stand still in comfort.
Never move forward so she can guarantee not taking the wrong step.

But what happens when she takes a wrong step?

Mailbox Peak, Washington

Is it that she has to
work harder to climb up?
She reaches a dead end
and has to back track?

If the right step brings her
to the top of a mountain,
every wrong step creates a
story of lessons learned
and memories earned.

Standing still only deprives her
of a beautiful view and a beautiful story.

So move, dance, run, leap,
but do not stand still.

 

Rainbow Road

the rain comes on suddenly,

too sudden.

they are unprepared, their hoods from their hoodies

are all they have, their

 umbrellas are forgotten at home, they are

 unfamiliar with michigan weather,

where the saying goes 

“if you don’t like the weather,

wait ten minutes.” 

they realize this soon but

not soon enough.

the water that the drain rejected has seeped

into their converse, their nike air force ones, their checkered vans,

 cleaning the once-white soles but 

leaving them damp,

uncomfortable.

their solution for this is coffee 

like it is for many of their problems,

cold, iced tea, contrasting with the weather,

whisked in their hands, flurrying away. 

the sidewalks get their dose of cleaning, from 

shoes that walk miles upon it every day,

the leaves lose their crunch, and instead

shine brightly on the pavement,

like walking on rainbow road

from mario kart.

a topic of conversation,

rain is.

all day long, 

coats are thrown off, umbrellas shaken at doorsteps, 

they say “it’s pouring out there!” 

and they have this same conversation every time it rains,

their shoes always get wet, 

they always get coffee,

they always walk on rainbow road,

they go through this every time it rains,

and yet their love for it 

never wavers. 

The Poetry Snapshot: Instructions for Life

Anderson Lake, Washington

Manuals to assemble furniture.
Guides to care for pets.
Directions to wash your clothes.
Recipes to cook your food.

Unlike everything else,
your life does not come with instructions.
No singular timeline to follow,
or levels to unlock like a game.

Easy enough, your life is yours to live.

But it’s easy to get lost in freedom.
When you were younger,
the hardest choices were in Choose your Own Adventure books.
Now, every decision becomes a spiraling void,
and you become stuck at every fork in the road.

So you put your head down.
You forget about the sunrise in the horizon,
and just see the stone beneath your feet.
You take one step to a dead end,
and another to a cliff.

Oh, how I wish my life came with instructions.

The Books of Hatcher Library

Walk the stacks of Hatcher,

all the history it contains

Up and down the hallways, 

marvel at what remains

 

Centuries worth of books,

all sitting there in dust

Many of them never picked,

thankfully cannot rust

 

Their wordsmiths have come and gone,

the books as ever young

Their words sit upon these musty shelves,

their contents remain unsung

 

We talk and talk and hope one is listening,

to know that we exist

Like us, these books want to be heard,

it is our eyes that they have missed

 

Close your eyes and pick a book,

leave your texts unsent

The books are celebrating your arrival,

they appreciate the time spent

 

Read the book in an open field,

where flowers are so merry

Where the sun shines upon its spine,

where it isn’t a dark library

 

Walk the stacks of Hatcher

 when you have some time to spare

The books yearn to be opened, 

they wish to feel the sweet summer air