The Honor Graduate

The Honor Graduate

The final days are swift
and without fail,
they glow a faint hue of yellow.
Days start to linger like
desperate falling leaves
and the red-inked papers
are wild and laughing at us.
We shift in our plastic seats
in daunting almost lifeless
pursuits. It is after all,
the last day for rehearsal
and our bodies begin to imitate
the reckless nature
of wind being taunted
by sand dunes. We mirror
each other, quietly making
the room small and inviting.
Finally, the honor graduate
speaks and draws us closer
to the moment. His voice
quivers and shakes
and we
dance with him in almost
quiet procession.
Unafraid and
following his every word.

M.C. Davis


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