[this poem comes on the heels of watching one of my very best friends read part of her senior thesis on saturday. I tried for third person, as this friend loves it so and I am not the best at it.]
Watching her up there behind the podium
only tall enough, even in heels, to peek over,
the school crest on its front seemingly
emblazoned on her own chest.
Her very own
The recent postgrad swells with watching.
The feeling that grips her heart is hard to name,
a vichyssoise of mama lion pride and quiet wishful rewriting
tempered enough to break
mingling for dominance as a zebra's stripes do in the mind
Is it black with white
or white with black?
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