day 16

A strange thing happened to me this week.
Tuesday was the first day of my class.
A woman from the University called me and was working with me to show me how the online classroom was structured.
In doing so I began to feel strange... couldn't tell why.
Then she told me where the reading material was to be found. I looked and saw this:

Readings

Read Appendix A, the Glossary, & “Invitation to the Writer” in Imaginative Writing.
Read Ch. 1 & 6 of the text.
Read “Black Hair” by Gary Soto in the text.
Read “The Hawk in the Rain” by Ted Hughes in the text.
Read “Kong Looks Back on His Tryout with the Bears” by William Trowbridge in the text.
Read “Father” by Hilda Raz in the text.
Read “Story” by Lydia Davis in the text.
Read “The Language of Bees” by Barbara Hamby in the text.


Hey this isn't fiction before 1800!
and the woman said... "oh. You are right. It's not."
An error had occurred and somehow I was placed into the wrong class... ADVANCED creative writing.
EEEK
she told me she would fix it... but I thought for a moment and told her no. It is an upper level English course and it's credits advance me toward my goal. I will begin the Lit class in Nov... I thought... it's easier too!

Boy was I wrong. I have been doing nothing but reading... responding to questions and comments... taking notes... and caring for my father for 2 days. It is A LOT of work... But it i also good for me. It is forcing me to write... forcing me to come to terms with literary terms. Forcing me to understand the process of writing instead of just casually writing on my own.

i was inspired by something I read... I am not a poet but there was a small assignment to write a poem using.... how can I explain... they are metaphors but... ok


well here is what I wrote:


The plants my father planted grow
these are rhododendrums, daffodils, azaleas
the seeds within my fathers mind rot
these are memories and bits of knowledge
falling from him like autumn leaves
in their place rough brown branches remain
no bud-bringing spring will come
soon or late the branches will wither as well
and the bare trunk may stand
for a time
but after some catastrophe
an eastern storm with tremendous gales
a quake to shake the roots from their place
or even just years of insects and microbes eating it away
the trunk too will no longer remain
become a dust
to start a hill or a child or a new tree again