My right shoulder sits lower than my left from years of carrying my education, bags laden with books, pens, theories. All my life I'll have this dip, this asymmetry. Put a set square next to me. See, I'm right. I could calculate the angle if I had a protractor. What became of them, the old burdens that gave us sleepless nights and uneven shoulders? The trigonometry of French, German (der, die, des, den), or the lessons of history in linear equations? They fell through the cracks in the pavements we pounded, on the last day, after the last bell rang.
I decided to post this poem today. Then I can post the next roundup of my short story 365 reading challenge on Friday.
Brings back memories.