It is dusk.
The sun is setting slowly
And revealing magnificent shades
Of red, pink, and orange.
It is my favorite time of day
And I am at my favorite place.
I am standing at the baseline
Anticipating the next shot that
Will be hit my way.
I look left and briefly watch the sun
It reminds me of the countless other
Times I have watched a
Sunset on this court.
The wind changes and the scent
Of barbeque makes its way towards me
Reminding me how hungry I am
And how my mom will have dinner
Ready for me when I get home.
This is where I grew up and
Dreamed big dreams of being
A tennis star.
I remember talks after lessons
About who got what scholarship
At what college to play.
Here on the court I am not any particular age.
I am nine, I am fifteen, I am twenty.
I am invincible.
I will get to every shot that is hit my way.
The rhythmic sound of hitting the ball
Helps me make sense of things in my life.
I have played through many feelings here.
Happiness, grief, sadness, nostalgia.
Each game I play is a struggle to be better
And I do my best to make it out alive.
Now that I am older I dream big dreams
Of things the real world offers me.
I have a future. I am twenty
And I may not be a tennis star
But I am still invincible.
The moon rises in the east
Over my Miami horizon.
It is almost as beautiful as
The sunset was.
I am home.<\/div>\n

i’m
\nnot much of a poet. this was a 15 minute poem that i wrote for my
\ncreative writing class right before it started one thurs morning. no
\nrhyme, no meter, no structure. it just flowed, as most of my writing
\ndoes for me, especially when its an easy assignment ("where do you feel
\nmost at home") and i’m under a deadline. this teacher is extremely hard
\nto please. he likes to give me b’s and say that stuff i write is
\nsuperficial. not that this is anything outstanding. ah well. can’t have
\neverything. <\/p>\n

i have such a love\/hate relationship with writing
\nanything. i hate to write. sometimes i can’t make myself do it. like
\nright now, i have to be doing a style analysis for my mag writing class
\nand its so boring that it doesn’t interest me enough. it’s due at
\n11:30. and its my major. but that feeling that you get after you’ve
\nread something that you’ve written, where somehow what you’re feeling
\nis right there in front of you, and it just works. or the relief that
\ncomes from getting that paper done after you’ve worked really hard on
\nit. or getting the grade you wanted. the best my creative writing
\nteacher has given me is a b+. next on the agenda is a short story. i
\nhaven’t written one of those since like elementary school and it makes
\nme nervous. Dave and i were talking the other day and he asked if i had
\nstarted working on a book or anything, and i was like. . .not yet.
\nsandy says that this is the time we should get into the habit of
\nwriting because it helps you be disciplined to it as you get older.<\/p>\n

i
\nread about gertrude stein and t.s. eliot and ezra pound and picasso
\nbeing surrounded by other writers and artists part of the modernist
\nrevolution in paris. i wonder what that was like. i wish i was one of
\nthem. just not crazy. they say that you just have to write something
\nthat people will read. the greats never really became great until after
\nthey were gone. and thats the amazing thing about writing. you live far
\nbeyond your own lifetime.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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