As we near finals, it's time to reflect on this past semester: one full of ups and downs, high highs and low lows. Like a lot of my fellow students, it seemed like more time was spent in the lows. But even the drudgery of day-to-day classes had its bright spots. One of these was a book of poems I read for my creative writing class, The Carrying by Ada Limón. I was inspired by Limón's work and decided to rearrange some of the lines that struck me into a new narrative.
Waxing and Waning
I'm driving alone in the predawn
It's almost romantic as we adjust the waxy blue
the extent of our adventurism
then a heaving. Sounds sucked from lungs.
and uncupping our ears to hear.
No, to the rising tides.
(they wish to bless and bless and hush)
that bend with moss and old man's beard
mouthing the sand and silt, a crawdad
jellyfish washed to the stormy shore.
Sometimes, we drown together.
But sometimes I swear I hear it, the wound closing
your own lungs, like venom? Reader, I want to
making identical perfect selves, bam, another me,
we stood static and listened to them insane
Cling and remind me—
But sometimes I swear I hear it, the wound closing
to myself that's between a prayer and a curse—how dare we live
this was all sentimental crap, you
you were dead all over again.
