Tag Archives: Poetry

Grad School: Days 0-1

Kyle and I made it down to Hollins very late on Friday night, after spending time with friends in DC and a bit further north in Virginia. It was a long trip, made worthwhile by company and amazing food.

Saturday I checked in. We found my dorm and moved in very heavy suitcases.  Then, we found the Goodwill. Because priorities. IMG_2617

Sunday I put Kyle on the train back to Jersey. More errands. More bitten nails. Some of the first years got together to eat pizza and walk around exploring the campus.

Dropping Kyle off in Lynchburg. I'm way off to the right of the picture, leaning against the pole.

Dropping Kyle off in Lynchburg. I’m way off to the right of the picture, leaning against the pole.

Yesterday, the fun finally began. We had orientation, then library orientation, then computer-lab orientation. A big break in the afternoon gave me time to run to Target. Then dinner with the rest of the students on campus (screenwriters, playwrights and dancers are all sharing this place with us this summer), followed by my first class of graduate school ever.

I won’t say it was magical, but it was about as close as you could get. The teacher is lovely. We talked about and experimented with poetry (what your mother always warned you about). I wrote a limerick. And failed to write a couple other styles. Tonight we meet again to share poems we love and poems we’ve attempted ourselves.

I’ll be sharing “Pronouns” by Kristin Elizabeth Clark. It’s excerpted from her novel Freakboy, which I’ve never read but plan to track down when the summer’s over and my reading is my own again.

The view from my dorm room. The brick building in the foreground is the theatre. The irony of my room overlooking the theatre is not lost on me, particularly since I think it's one of three rooms on the entire campus that face the theatre building.

The view from my dorm room. The brick building in the foreground is the theatre. The irony of my room overlooking the theatre is not lost on me, particularly since I think it’s one of three rooms on the entire campus that face the theatre building.

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The Rum Cake Runner’s Poem

Ok. If you haven’t been over to Crossed Genres Magazine to read my first-ever published story, “The Rum Cake Runner,” please go do so. It’s short. It’s (hopefully) fun. I’m immensely proud of it.

And while you’re there, read the other stories from the December issue. They’re great.

And in case you need a teaser, below is the entire story in a short poem. (In my Spotlight Author Interview I talk a bit about how sometimes I outline in verse. Because I’m strange. And I like to rhyme.) SPOILERS ahead.

ILLICIT CONFECTIONS

Round and through old asian ladies, shopping

totes full to the brim, a wee olive-skinned

boy with a stash quit two lawmen bopping

along in his trail. The goons twisted, pinned

by the contraband-scenting mutts they held

tight on eLeash. The market browsers thinned

deliberately lagging, letting boy meld

into the bustling horde of produce

bazaar. The pigs and their dogs, not dispelled,

came yet, flashing badge and fang to induce

rabble to move, which they did, albeit

still slowly. Success! Small runner reduced

to a speck in the crowd. The cops credit

was met so they stopped and groaned a fake sigh

over the missed lad, his bootleg packet

of sweet goods. Their mock chase, their outcry,

crooked– for they knew the baker’s young son

needed precinct sweet teeth (and cash) to buy

the final cannoli and cream saffron

cakes. He would swing by them last to be sure

that he took home his pastry bag barren

                                                            and his pockets full.

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