Zack leans over to peer at the poem Anna has written down and scans the poem in the poetry anthology. His initial annoyance fades as he reads the title, 'Reflection'? that sounds more interesting than 'Daffodils Weeping at Dawm.' "MM de wet," he said thoughtfully, pulling his phone back out to search the poet. "Never heard of her. Is the one of those modern poets that writes about emotional pain and internal struggle?" His fingers type quickly, skimming a few different website entries about the recently published poet. "Great, so I get to analyze some lady's emotional turmoil," he mutters with a dramatic sigh. "This is going to be fun." Despite his sarcasm he keeps scrolling through information on his phone. "Hey, no that is my choice for the poem I hate, get your own," Anna says playfully. Zack's lips curve into a smirk at her playful warning, the possessive edge in her voice sending a familiar thrill through his. The idea of her claiming ownership over a poem– even one she hates is absurdly endearing. "My bad, my bad," he says with a mock sincerity, raising his hands in surrender.
"I will find my own damn poem to hate. Can't have you stealing all the good hate material." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues scrolling through search results on his phone. The movement causes his black metallica shirt to pull tight across his chest, drawing Anna's brown eyes briefly before she returns to flipping through her poetry anthology. "You want a tip; choose a poem we did last year. That way you can just dig up your old notes from then and you will already have the poem analysis," Anna suggested. Zack's green eyes light up at her practical suggestion, the idea of recycling old notes sounding significantly more appealing than starting from scratch. "Damn, you are right," he says with genuine appreciation, "We had to do 'Caged' by Martha Magdalena last year, didn't we? I remember hating it especially having to write a whole essay about societal expectations. Mr. Peterson gave me an A-minus because I forgot to cite my sources properly. Typical," he recalls with a laugh.
'Caged'
By Martha Magdalena
This cage my life
Me useless to change it
I know every corner of the cage
I don't know my capturers
But I know their rules
I know the consequences
They want me to entertain them
But I won't
Faces pressed to the window
Cameras in their hand
They search the cage for me
They read the sigh
Which has no insight to me
They leave snacks in plain sight
Wanting me to come out
To give in to temptation
But I won't
I am in control of my actions
The lights go off
Everyone leaves, disappointed
I am moved
No expectations
No watching eyes
A false sense of freedom
But still trapped
Still forced to survive
until
Forced out again
I see others through the windows
Behind the waiting crowd
They jump through hoops
Receive applause and treats
For what?
All I can hope
Is that they get tired of me
Ship me off in a small cage
To hear the rumblings of a truck or plane
A bumpy path to freedom
And then I will run as fast as I can
Through the open forests or fields
"Well, there you go; one poem down, two to go," Anna said excitedly. Zack's lips curve into a genuine smile at her enthusiastic tone, her excitement about the assignment actually making it feel less like homework, the fact that she is this invested in his progress sends a warm feeling through his chest. "Two to go," he repeats, marking 'Caged' as his hate poem in his notebook, "I am already halfway there thanks to your genius plan. You are going to make me look like a straight-A student by the time this is over." He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. The classroom feels less oppressive now that he has a clear strategy– use old notes for one poem, find something personal for another, and pick some random poem he doesn't understand. "Okay, so I have got my hate poem," he says quietly as Mrs. Wayne begins circulating the room to check on students' progress. "Now I just need to figure out what love poem speaks to me."
"The third poem it pretty easy too, since it has to be one you don't understand and you won't analyze it yourself, you can choose any poem," Anna said and continued her search through the Poetry Anthology. She points to a poem called 'Attention' by Madlie de Wet and opens the Poetry Anthology to the poem.
Attention
By Madlie de Wet
In a dark room, people everywhere
I look from familiar faces to non-familiar faces
Unseen, Unheard, Unloved
They fill up my space
Making my journey take twice as long
So, I burned them all and
Threw away the ashes
Now my space is clear
So is my illusionary hope
Of finding someone to care
Zack's green eyes follow Anna's finger as she pointed to the poem, his expression shifting from boredom to genuine curiosity. 'Attention'? The title alone is intriguing. He scans the poem noting how short it is, and the context does not seem too confusing. Zack pulls up his phone again to search for the poet. The search results bring up information about Madlie de Wet's career and themes. Very little information about the poem is found besides a short website paragraph on the author. "Okay, this one actually sounds like it could be a pain in the ass to figure out," he admits with a small smile. "Good choice for the poem I won't have to analyze myself." Anna nodded in agreement and then moved her fingers down to point to the poem 'Coloured' by De Wet. "You can analyze this one for me," she said with a light smile and opened the Poetry Anthology to the poem.
'Coloured'
By De Wet
Life starts with colour
With a sort of spirit
Only a child can give
A parent is brightened
By the mere presence the light projected
But after time
That colour fades
Dimming
Like a worn out jean
A ghost
Heavy and burdened
Uncertain
Seeking guidance
Purpose
Love
But once found
Once explored
Colour returns to life
And is reflected and spread