Flour: A Poem

I’m trying something new this year. Instead of posting a book review every month, I shall be writing a poem instead. While I will continue to read, and (hopefully) review books, I do not have the time to dedicate the book reviews on a monthly basis. Instead, I shall be posting three unscheduled reviews of books released this year and sharing poetry with you on a monthly basis. I find poems just come to me, especially when I’m stressed and working on essays or research.

I wrote this one based off my experience as a college student. As a 20-something-year-old, I often find myself lost in an overwhelming world of choices, choices concerning my future, when I’m already under loads of stress. I find myself asking questions like: How will I find a job after I graduate? Where will I live if I don’t even have a home country? Can I even look for a job when I can barely complete my essays in time and cooking meals becomes a daily chore? These are just a few of the questions running through my mind that I’m sure many college students can relate with. The unknown can be frightening.

Without further ado, here is my first poem for this year. Dedicated to the People-Who-Don’t-Know-What-They’re-Doing-With-Their-Lives.

Flour

The silent screech of chalk on a chalkboard rolls between your fingers.

Sweep the silky silver cobwebs from the corners of your mind,

nurture, feed, stuff it ‘till it’s full and empty it again. The sound of

heeled shoes echoing on the wooden floor, creaking from the weight,

bending as the imagination swirls, stretches, groans in yellow sciences,

and bittersweet vanilla romance, smells divine and tastes sour.

Old friends, new times, under pressure, half-hearted rhymes

of times long ago, sung in tales, melded in dramas, and laughed in gossip

as the politics seep into the innocence of yesterday, no longer pale

naivety in the yellow sun, the face of torment. Don’t speak of exams

pounding answers, fill in the blank, seep in the letter c, a, d, c, c, c—

see here now, can’t be bothered with another essay. Writing is one thing,

but baking, burning my mind with letters no longer comprehendible

is another. A blast of cold air meets the mass exodus of fish—students—

pouring out of school into the wide world, wading, wishing for another

grade, the final scale of excellence. Even after the triumph of the release,

the final test comes in the tasting. Too tart, too sweet, or just right?

Did you enjoy this poem? Were there ever times when the unknown future seemed daunting? Let me know what you think!