September 1st

Twisting, wringing,
Plummeting to the earth
With no parachute
I’ll land on my feet
(I always do, though my knees crumble
from repeated slamming into rock)
With my hand in the air
Trumpeting my smarty-pants
For all the world to mark
With a sneer and a smirk

But
My pens wait neatly for me
Ready to bleed my soul onto the page
Crisp notebooks are my friends
More than any jealous child
The brand new backpack
Sits eagerly in the corner
As leaves tumble softly
So do textbooks into my embrace

A new year begins
And I don’t know whether to cry
From terror or delight

photo credit: hz536n/George Thomas Errare humanum est… via photopin (license)

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