Ruminations of a Red Dirt Hussy

December 3, 2011

Addicted to stories, or “This is not a poem”

Filed under: General — Vadasmaker @ 2:55 pm

Standing in the classroom, relieved by the exodus. On-time essays

collected, line drawn in the sand eroding with every day. I retrieve

my bag, my keys, my ass that’s been dragging for hours. Then,

caught, trapped—a student so rarely present she’s nameless. Offers

a typed paper. “The essay,” she says. “Can I please please turn it in?” What

now? “My Meemaw died”? “I was in court”? “I had two tests this week”?  

“The essay?” she repeats. I will buy a T-shirt. “Read. The. Syllabus.“

“But wait.” And the story spins.  “My uncle,” she says. “In Mexico. My

papi went to find him. Only blood. The walls, the floor .All blood.”

She pauses. “The cartel.” Barely a whisper. A buzz in my head:  excuses—lies?

—or creation sparked by desperation? I take the paper, addicted

to the words, not the tune, to the possibilities of story, whatever the muse.

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1 Comment »

  1. We all think we’ve had a horrendously bad day — then we read something like this. Thanks for reminding me. ~ Joan

    Like

    Comment by Joan — December 4, 2011 @ 4:43 am | Reply


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