World, you are looking good these days. World, did you do something different with your hair? World, are you seeing anyone right now?
Seriously, world, you are fine.
I am in love with collaboration. Me, the girl who went home and did the group project by herself. Me, the girl who got stuck both cutting the frog and writing the lab report. Me, who was once a very minor triple threat. Me, who will be reading the parts of both Henry and June.
Yesterday morning I gathered my papers and I went to the crepes place and with two wonderful friends, cut up my poem—-literally, into bits—-and cut up their poems, and we spread them out on the table, and highlighted, and crossed-out, and taped. By noon, we had consumed crepes, potatoes, a bagel, and three smoky coffees. We had ink on our hands, and in them, a huge taped-together sheet of six separate voices. Tonight we’ll read them together, a story that intertwines, a poem that alternates. We made it together. Everyone helped.
On the walk up the hill, we talked about the freedom. To have the stake be: beauty and wildness and friendship and fun. To work, not for a private personal narrative, but for a public one.
I’m just waking up to you, world, and I like the way you look in the morning.
Summer’s coming on. I have new freckles beside my eyes and a wrinkle—-my first—-beginning beneath one. I have named it for you because I came by it laughing (mostly about "some level..."). I love it, as I did not think I would a wrinkle.
I have to sing tonight. I am very nervous. My voice does something when I try to sing in public; it wants to climb back into my stomach and hide. It wants to turn back into that little girl who did all the questions on the practice exam, even though she was only supposed to do two, because she was worried no one else would care.
I am learning people care.
I was singing when I met you. So I will sing for you.
