Tenderness is a Dangerous Thing

Chapter 70: Hate Poem

Zack leans over to peer at the poem Anna has written down and scans the poem in the poetry anthology. His initial annoyance fades as he reads the title, ‘Reflection’? that sounds more interesting than ‘Daffodils Weeping at Dawm.’ “MM de wet,” he said thoughtfully, pulling his phone back out to search the poet. “Never heard of her. Is the one of those modern poets that writes about emotional pain and internal struggle?” His fingers type quickly, skimming a few different website entries about the recently published poet. “Great, so I get to analyze some lady’s emotional turmoil,” he mutters with a dramatic sigh. “This is going to be fun.” Despite his sarcasm he keeps scrolling through information on his phone. “Hey, no that is my choice for the poem I hate, get your own,” Anna says playfully. Zack’s lips curve into a smirk at her playful warning, the possessive edge in her voice sending a familiar thrill through his. The idea of her claiming ownership over a poem– even one she hates is absurdly endearing. “My bad, my bad,” he says with a mock sincerity, raising his hands in surrender.

“I will find my own damn poem to hate. Can’t have you stealing all the good hate material.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues scrolling through search results on his phone. The movement causes his black Metallica T-shirt to pull tight across his chest, drawing Anna’s brown eyes briefly before she returns to flipping through her poetry anthology. “You want a tip; choose a poem we did last year. That way you can just dig up your old notes from then and you will already have the poem analysis,” Anna suggested. Zack’s green eyes light up at her practical suggestion, the idea of recycling old notes sounding significantly more appealing than starting from scratch. “Damn, you are right,” he says with genuine appreciation, “We had to do ‘Caged’ by Martha Magdalena last year, did we not? I remember hating it, especially having to write a whole essay about societal expectations. Mr. Peterson gave me an A-minus because I forgot to cite my sources properly. Typical,” he recalls with a laugh.

‘Caged’

By Martha Magdalena

This cage, my life

Me useless to change it

I know every corner of the cage

I don’t know my capturers

But I know their rules

I know the consequences

They want me to entertain them

But I won’t

Faces pressed to the window

Cameras in their hand

They search the cage for me

They read the sigh

Which has no insight to me

They leave snacks in plain sight

Wanting me to come out

To give in to temptation

But I won’t

I am in control of my actions

The lights go off

Everyone leaves, disappointed

I am moved

No expectations

No watching eyes

A false sense of freedom

But still trapped

Still forced to survive

until

Forced out again

I see others through the windows

Behind the waiting crowd

They jump through hoops

Receive applause and treats

For what?

All I can hope

Is that they get tired of me

Ship me off in a small cage

To hear the rumblings of a truck or plane

A bumpy path to freedom

And then I will run as fast as I can

Through the open forests or fields

“Well, there you go; one poem down, two to go,” Anna said excitedly. Zack’s lips curve into a genuine smile at her enthusiastic tone, her excitement about the assignment actually making it feel less like homework, the fact that she is this invested in his progress sends a warm feeling through his chest. “Two to go,” he repeats, marking ‘Caged’ as his hate poem in his notebook, “I am already halfway there thanks to your genius plan. You are going to make me look like a straight-A student by the time this is over.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. The classroom feels less oppressive now that he has a clear strategy– use old notes for one poem, find something personal for another, and pick some random poem he does not understand. “Okay, so I have got my hate poem,” he says quietly as Ms. Wayne begins circulating the room to check on students’ progress. “Now I just need to figure out what love poem speaks to me.”

“The third poem it pretty easy too, since it has to be one you do not understand and you will not be analyzing it yourself, you can choose any poem,” Anna said and continued her search through the Poetry Anthology. She points to a poem called ‘Attention’ by Madlie de Wet and opens the Poetry Anthology to the poem.

Attention

By Madlie de Wet

In a dark room, people everywhere

I look from familiar faces to non-familiar faces

Unseen, Unheard, Unloved

They fill up my space

Making my journey take twice as long

So, I burned them all and

Threw away the ashes

Now my space is clear

So is my illusionary hope

Of finding someone to care

Zack’s green eyes followed Anna’s finger as she pointed at the poem, his expression shifting from boredom to genuine curiosity. ‘Attention’? The title alone is intriguing. He scans the poem noting how short it is, and the context does not seem too confusing. Zack pulls up his phone again to search for the poet. The search results bring up information about Madlie de Wet’s career and themes. Very little information about the poem is found besides a short website paragraph on the author. “Okay, this one actually sounds like it could be a pain in the ass to figure out,” he admits with a small smile. “Good choice for the poem I will not have to analyze myself.” Anna nodded in agreement and then moved her fingers down to point to the poem ‘Colored’ by De Wet. “You can analyze this one for me,” she said with a light smile and opened the Poetry Anthology to the poem.

‘Colored’

By De Wet

Life starts with color

With a sort of spirit

Only a child can give

A parent is brightened

By the mere presence the light projected

But after time

That color fades

Dimming

Like a worn out jean

A ghost

Heavy and burdened

Uncertain

Seeking guidance

Purpose

Love

But once found

Once explored

Color returns to life

And is reflected and spread