[CLOSED] - Poets Pub 2020 - Biggest Competition Ever Vol. 2

In Memory of Becoming (spacetodream) wk-7

In Memory of Becoming

Blink and feel the brisk fall wind of the morning, rushing across campus to voice class,

eyes bleary, throat tight, stomach quivering, my thermos filled, my nerves aflutter.

Face flushed in stripes of sunny warmth in the chill,

I cross the quad in a sway of bodies and light,

dash in as theory lecture begins, dash back out into the wide sun afterwards,

headphones pumping the pulse of counter-rhythms,

heart thumping against my chest.

Wild and hopeful I spy him across the lawn,

three years and a million miles ahead of me in study and talent, beauty and wit.

My first campus crush, his easy laugh echoing on the autumn breeze,

his tenor voice pure and effortless in master class, his smile affectionate, his advice kind.

Blink and see that moment at the Christmas party, post performance,

when he put his arms around a dark-haired bass, their joy infectious,

their kiss tender and heartbreaking.

He sat with me afterwards; I felt the gentle warmth in his smile,

our separate truths in his eyes as he squeezed my hand, ever encouraging.

We flew our own paths, then, our songs passing each other only briefly on a stage

that widened with time, a scene that once held us, then dissolved,

replaced with a different setting, fresh characters, complex notes.

Blink and find it anew in my memory, the concert hall

that held my fervent fears and precarious performances,

the lawn where we poured over the staves,

students of songs and languages and dreams.

Singers-in-the-process, Adults-in-the-becoming,

green as the leaves before they burnt tangerine-gold, falling from the wide oak trees.