An Unfamiliar Room | A Poem

Soft voices.

At least those who know each other.

Everyone else,

Sitting, waiting.

Wondering.

Wishing for prognostication.

Sitting in a seat they weren't sure of picking

But chose in haste to get the attention off of them.

Chosen in haste to get the seating eyes of

Unfamiliar faces from scolding their comfort bubble until it bursts.

Sitting down to a small smooth desk that they can call their own.

For the next four hours

They will look at its scratches and drawings.

Their own small space of individuality

Clothing them from the rest of the class.

The rough rustling of a back pack,

The sweet sound of someone sipping coffee.

Tall decaf double shot non fat raspberry mocha latte,

Iced.

Eyes searching plain white walls while

A few coughs echo off their banal surfaces.

The calm steps of the teacher as he walks

To give his welcome to the class.

He hides his anxiety he shares with his students well.

Eleven weeks will soon pass;

And this now familiar room, these now familiar faces,

Will surprisingly be missed.

---

This is a poem I wrote for a creative writing class while attending the Art Institute of Seattle earning my BFA in Animation and Media Arts. I probably wrote it around 2004 as a 21 year old. We had classes once a week for four hours, and each quarter was eleven weeks long. In that time I always was amazed at how a group of strangers had become a familiar class I would miss.