The first lesson in a course for self-esteem:
they ask us to draw something to represent
the way we feel – about ourselves, right now
or at some other place and time, whatever we want.
I fish amongst the textas, find a choice of colours,
draw a pattern of floating lines
resting on one another like waves
licking the shore. “This is how I feel
when I listen to music,” I say, when it’s my turn
to speak. The woman beside me
shuffles in her seat, tries to hide
her handiwork, declines to show
the picture she has made; but I
catch a glimpse before it disappears
into her bag: a dark and frightening ball
of chaos and despair. At the end of the class
she makes a quick escape
and never returns.
they ask us to draw something to represent
the way we feel – about ourselves, right now
or at some other place and time, whatever we want.
I fish amongst the textas, find a choice of colours,
draw a pattern of floating lines
resting on one another like waves
licking the shore. “This is how I feel
when I listen to music,” I say, when it’s my turn
to speak. The woman beside me
shuffles in her seat, tries to hide
her handiwork, declines to show
the picture she has made; but I
catch a glimpse before it disappears
into her bag: a dark and frightening ball
of chaos and despair. At the end of the class
she makes a quick escape
and never returns.
how we feel by jeff klooger
r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal fall08/winter09 poetry
r.kv.r.y. quarterly literary journal fall08/winter09 poetry
