I regained my respect for poetry.
Last week of January is Poetry Week. In high school we had to submit poems that were graded and included in your final course grade. It ruined poetry for those who failed to write good poems, and poetry would ruin their grades in return.
Every year I would reluctantly scribble down something in less than five minutes, submit it as poetry and hope for a 50 % score to pass. Low on effort and therefore quality equals low profile, right? RIGHT?
February freshman year. Grandma shows me a page of her town’s magazine, where my school is also located. She scolds me for keeping it a secret. It being my poem, published among others on the Poetry Week article. Without my knowledge or consent.
Poetry Week Sophomore year. In the midst of the school poetry show my name is called and my poem is performed. Also without my knowledge or consent. I hid in my seat so that no one notices me or my tears.
“You should be grateful and flattered.” Well, I might have been if you bothered to ask my permission first. Or if I did this out of free will.
If you did visit at any time in the past two weeks, you were witness to a big change. I still scribble something down in less than five minutes, and submit it as poetry. But now I am actually looking forward to those five minutes. To be grateful for the good things that day. To write again.
Love, February