I’ve got those pre-block, new class jitters. It’s funny because my daughter is feeling the same way about starting kindergarten this week, and even though she’s been telling me every hour since she got home that she is nervous about the first day of school, I can tell that she is excited, too. That’s always exactly how I felt about it too, and still do. I find it telling that I’ve taken on a profession that requires first days. Maybe I like to get the jitters. Maybe it feels like being on stage just before curtain. Huh.
For D1, I offer Margaret Atwood:
Flying inside your own body is what it feels like to do something for the first time. How our firsts diminish over time…that’s a thing to poem about another day. For today, I’ll write a poem for my D1, on her first day of school.
First Day Flying
First we will organize the costume. The costume is important for a first, it is an essential cloaking, and the drapery allows us to remain chin up in the face of great uncertainty, choose your costume carefully. Next, we will get good sleep the night before, filling our dreams with the flying that can only happen in dreams, where there is nothing above us, and you will feel the strength in those reeds and pinions lift you and buoy you higher, and when you wake, unkindly, to the morning scramble, let that feeling leave its residue. There will be no gunshot, today. You are flying, always, to a first day, and your stomach is right in its roiling, and your heart is right in its flutter, and your limbs will take you right to your spot on the carpet.
That took me longer than it should have. Happy Sunday!