It is dusk.
\nThe sun is setting slowly
\nAnd revealing magnificent shades
\nOf red, pink, and orange.
\nIt is my favorite time of day
\nAnd I am at my favorite place.
\nI am standing at the baseline
\nAnticipating the next shot that
\nWill be hit my way.
\nI look left and briefly watch the sun
\nIt reminds me of the countless other
\nTimes I have watched a
\nSunset on this court.
\nThe wind changes and the scent
\nOf barbeque makes its way towards me
\nReminding me how hungry I am
\nAnd how my mom will have dinner
\nReady for me when I get home.
\nThis is where I grew up and
\nDreamed big dreams of being
\nA tennis star.
\nI remember talks after lessons
\nAbout who got what scholarship
\nAt what college to play.
\nHere on the court I am not any particular age.
\nI am nine, I am fifteen, I am twenty.
\nI am invincible.
\nI will get to every shot that is hit my way.
\nThe rhythmic sound of hitting the ball
\nHelps me make sense of things in my life.
\nI have played through many feelings here.
\nHappiness, grief, sadness, nostalgia.
\nEach game I play is a struggle to be better
\nAnd I do my best to make it out alive.
\nNow that I am older I dream big dreams
\nOf things the real world offers me.
\nI have a future. I am twenty
\nAnd I may not be a tennis star
\nBut I am still invincible.
\nThe moon rises in the east
\nOver my Miami horizon.
\nIt is almost as beautiful as
\nThe sunset was.
\nI am home.<\/div>\n

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

i have such a love\/hate relationship with writing anything. i hate to write. sometimes i can’t make myself do it. like right now, i have to be doing a style analysis for my mag writing class and its so boring that it doesn’t interest me enough. it’s due at 11:30. and its my major. but that feeling that you get after you’ve read something that you’ve written, where somehow what you’re feeling is right there in front of you, and it just works. or the relief that comes from getting that paper done after you’ve worked really hard on it. or getting the grade you wanted. the best my creative writing teacher has given me is a b+. next on the agenda is a short story. i haven’t written one of those since like elementary school and it makes me nervous. Dave and i were talking the other day and he asked if i had started working on a book or anything, and i was like. . .not yet. sandy says that this is the time we should get into the habit of writing because it helps you be disciplined to it as you get older.<\/p>\n

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

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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[62],"class_list":["post-849","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1DIlZ-dH","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/849","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=849"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/849\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=849"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=849"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lindsaykeegan.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=849"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}