Hey, it’s Poem in Your Pocket Day. I’m cheating here: I’m posting this online, and I keep my iPhone in my pocket. Lame, I know. Kari is my inspiration for participating. Thanks, Kari. Loosely drawn from dialogue in Dead Poets Society:
Uh, I-I close my eyes.
Uh, and this image floats beside me.
A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain.
H-His hands reach out and choke me.
And all the time he’s mumbling.
Mumbling truth.
Truth like-like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it’ll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it’ll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying t-to the moment we leave dying, it’ll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.
Like Todd, I do not even begin to consider myself a poet. Also like Todd, writing a poem and reading it aloud in class would be an act barely preferable to death by self-defenestration. And yet … when pushed to make it happen, to strip away fear and shame, I think we can all express poetic emotion.