Graduation

Where the present, future, and past collide.

this is graduation

and i forget

the hubbub,

that teenage jitter

in their element,

wearing the demand to know who they are, in this moment,

suspenders, sparkles, sartorial shorthand for

SEE ME.

myself, i am well past such spectacle,

crone reporting for duty, sir.

i’ve been on this tour before

and remember only dimly

the road out,

but clearly where it lands.

ah

to be henna-tattooed, fuschia-haired,

to feel the building beauty in my art,

self-conscious and careless.

hey

this is graduation,

and I remember

the hubbub that ditches us,

old stoics, folding shirts, reusing reusable shopping bags,

the loop

nettling beneath firing nerves,

keeping alive this craving for the arrow.