Graduate school

My hips happily feel the air
As I walked down play dough pavements
And around cement trees

My knees feel the humidity
As I bend in momentum
Crushing the potato chips leaves beneath me

Two years sound like a long time
To bend my knees away from my lover
My mother and my brother

Writing is a pain to many I’m sure
Writing is despair to an idle tongue
Writing is not an oral way of living

Writing is like my lover
I smile at the keys that stay with me every moment of this journey
Writing is like my mother
Nurturing me with every new thought and phrase
Writing is like my brother
Keeping me company in moments of cognition

My fingers move with intention
My hips move with the lover of my words
My eyes do not leave the page

I orally proclaim my love for my fingers
For they type all my pleasures
That spill onto this electronic screen
Never turn off