My poetry class is over! Well almost. I still have to hand in my final portfolio by next week.

I am sitting here laughing because the last line of this poem makes me.

I have enjoyed this class immensely. At the same time, I am super happy to have it done. It was intense. My professor was really intense, although she did give good feedback. But, she would call bullshit in class anytime.

I did not do that well with my recitation. The words were there and then they started to flicker, but got through it.

Also, I cannot remember in recent history when I have been so tired by the end of a semester. My schedule was hard. I got sleep, then got some more sleep the next night, then had to squeeze in two treatments and exercise before class, which is not easy. Then didn’t get much sleep. The next night got some . . . Some again, then got a lot of sleep. This isn’t exact, but that’s the essence.

I am so looking forward to getting better quality sleep.

Yet – my stamina and endurance handled it. I have had a lot of caffeine, I am not going to lie. But, I have to be awake for my treatments. Nodding off while holding a neb in your hand does not work. Let alone my posture folds over and I take shallow breaths.

I am thankful. I don’t question everything. I don’t understand, and honestly I just leave it right there.

I have many things to write regarding my conference and everything, but this is all for now.

So here is my pastoral. This particular kind of pastoral models a famous poet where he sets a scene and then there is a twist at the end. I chose this model because to be honest it was the shortest – and it had potential to be really funny. It’s not set in stone as of yet. It’s close.

Minnesota’s Longest Luster

The brazen biting winter is at its
end; the dreary and desolate are gone.

Blustering winds blow east; the baby
blue spruce shakes off her dust. The mother
of pine – robust; can survive forty below
and several droughts.

The stark gray eyes close; a slow breeze
and dancing rain beads take its place. Awaken
to the plush, spongy, and serene greens.

New buds and new leaves bloom; Minnesota’s
own coneflower: “Kim’s Knee-High”
stretches its berry-red, purple, and white
stems, without tipping over.

The Dutch elm reaches for the sky –
her limbs arch, weighted-down by
her grand shape.

The damp and sticky mesh the days
and grass blades together. Summers’
solstice, twelve at its longest hour.

The weeping willow provides much needed
shade. Her long beaded branches resemble
flowing hair – masking her face.

The muggy nights and mornings sap the
earth; hydrate, crack their thirsty roots.

Water swells under the ground; droplets
lift and break open into a looming mist.

The scorching heat settles in deep; calming
the earth’s breath; a sigh to a sleep.

August steam rises to a luster; a ripple
and a wave sway the high-noon beams.

Calming nights chirp and sing their nostalgic song
and fling; fireflies light the navy-blue, sparkling skies.

The red maple with her five leafy points, saw-
tooth lobes and sharp angular ways – dim her
greens shades; cast her yellow and red notes.

It’s all the same, until it’s not the same.
Then you die.

Or

It’s all the same, until a June bug flutters
passed your face; wingtips tap your face – and you scream.

It’s funny – or I think it’s funny. That’s Minnesota for you.