Steel and Sawdust

This is a poem I wrote for the Idiom, Gordon's poetry and photography journal. The theme was: The City, so I just let my mind wander to when I recently walked the streets of New York. I'm not going to say any more about it although I've been told that the poem's meaning is rather confusing; but to me, it says exactly what it needs to say.

Steel and Sawdust

On our way to Central Park,

we passed a skyscraper

under construction,

steel beams poking

intothe atmosphere, like a

tower of Babel.

Buildings are your favorite subject.

You could talk on modern

engineering from 59^th

to 95^th and not grow weary

of describing angles, spires,

complex structures.

You told me they’re rebuilding

the World Trade Center—

creating a memorial.

New steel will rise from older ashes,

phoenix-like.

I thought of how my father’s father

made our house

from wood and blood  and nail.

How my mother carved

each year on bedroom doors.

The smell of sawdust still

reminding me of goat’s milk and

Father’s sturdy hands.

But you talked

too quickly

too volubly

like buzzing in a 9 to 5

bee hive— turning out a product.

I don’t really mind. The scent of

sawdust is meant

to be savored.

Transitions

I am in a state of transition—from college life to home life. It is less difficult this time than last, but my depression has sunk in none the less. During my last few days at school, I supressed my swelling urges to cry over the friends I won’t see for over a year, since I will be in Oxford junior year, and the friends I may never see again. It feels like I just packed my leopard print suitcase for my sophomore year, and it's surreal to think how unbelievably fast the year has flown by. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that regret appears at these crossroad moments. I wish I had spent more time with more people, wish I had traveled to more places, wish I had spent more time outside, et cetera, et cetera.  And now that I’m sitting back on the brown leather couch in my basement, the feeling presses all the more heavily on my chest. I don’t have much time for these thoughts though because I started my internship the very Monday I returned to New York.Summer breaks? What? People still have those?... So I’ll be waking up at 7 every morning to run off to a 9-5 day in heels and collared shirts. I’m psyching myself out already, thinking about how the monotony of the weeks will settle in over me like the grey clouds which refuse to vacate Schenectady skies.

Though I must say, I really am happy to be home around my family again. They are definitely my favorite people and home is wonderful, but something is still missing in me. I don’t know why I can’t just be happy in one place.

Rain, Schubert, and Sandals

It was warm out today, but the sky was overcast and cloudy. You could almost smell the rain that hung over campus-- like freshly cut grass and damp earth. I wore a sweathshirt and sandals, which is a weird compbination but somehow felt perfect. The gray sky made me feel completely sluggish, so I didn't work out today. My apathy may also have ben caused by the movie we watched in Human Rights class: Death and the Maiden. I can appreciate that there is horror and depravity in the world, but I didn't feel like having it shoved in my face so graphically this morning. Plus the movie has completely ruined Schubert for me. So for the rest of the day, I moped around campus like a zombie until I needed to head back to my dorm from the library. It had started raining while I was in the writing center and it was still coming down pretty hard. I pulled my hood up and stepped out into the rain, but it wasn't as cold as I had thought. The clouds were puffy and steel colored yet still bright. I began to run down the quad, breathing hard while my sandaled feet sunk into the wet grass. When I reached Chase I panted for a second and smiled.