The Accident

Part 2: Emily

Sometimes, I ask myself: is this world finally giving up on "good" poetry? The poems that I usually read nowadays don't hit me in the heart like Shakespeare's. This is a new generation already, I must remind myself that, and maybe, there's not much "good" poets around anymore.

Writing poems is what I do most of the time. I find inspiration from the works of the classic poets, but lately, I thought maybe I can find one from the modern poets – the digital poets, as I call them. I was wrong, slightly.

Digital poets are not like the classic poets because they have their own way with poetry. It's something new, and most of what they write lack discipline and passion (but that's just me). I'm not overgeneralizing though. Some of them are still okay, but they are not like the pioneers.

When I write poems, my topic usually revolves around my dad. I never had the chance to meet him because he died in action a week before I was born. He was a member of the military, and all that I have with me are his photographs with my mom.

"Emily, can you go to Danielle's and buy me a dozen of eggs?"

My mom is a frustrated baker. She likes to bake but she ended up a veterinarian. Every Saturday morning, she would go to my room and ask me if I can go to Danielle's and buy her a dozen of eggs. That means, goodbye poetry for one hour.

"Yes, I can, mom. How many times do I have to tell you to use may instead of can when requesting something or asking for permission?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry, Emily. Your mom can be very forgetful sometimes. Anyway, can you go to Danielle's and buy me a dozen of eggs?"

"Mom!"

"I'm kidding. That look on your face when annoyed – priceless! So, here's the money for the eggs, and please take care, okay?"

"You got it, mom. I will take care."

"One more thing, Emily, please drive safely. Never ever dare run your engine when it's red. Do so when the traffic lights turn green, okay? Wear your seatbelt, too, because—"

"Look, mom. I know them already. I promise I'll take care of myself and your Volkswagen because I know it's dad's anniversary gift to you, and it means much to you. I love you, mom, okay?"

"Oh... I love you, too, Emily. It's the first time you ever said I love you to me since your 11th birthday. I feel like crying, and I'm crying now. Give me a hug."

"Cut it out, mom. You look funny."

"Oh, stop it, Emily. You're ruining my moment.... Alright, off you go."

That's how moms are sometimes. They tend to be overprotective of their children, but I think that's their way of showing their love to us. As for me, I think I have a new topic to write poetry about when I get home from the supermarket.