Senior symposium for lit majors is making me really glad I'm not a lit major, largely because most of the papers were so impressive and used literary terms I don't understand as a lonely creative writing major. I especially liked Sarah's, because it was about eggs and I love eggs.

In honor of Sarah's paper about eggs and Hitchcock, I will post a poem.

The Constant Distancing of Bodies

The toast is burnt. The toast is only burnt
because I wasn’t using my nose, but instead my ears which heard nothing,
but the absence of a ring (a repeated absence, a message left by others before)
It could be that I am deaf, but I don’t think I am,
because for a short while there was noise (consistency, happiness as a hum),
it was not music, but it could be called music (definition was what we lacked).
What is more pleasing than the sound of someone
who wants to talk to you?
The toast is burnt and I eat it anyways. I think I might be angry
because I burnt my toast, even though I know this isn’t
true. (Think of the time wasted) I could’ve been making
eggs, but eggs are too loud. (To stay still and silent.
Perhaps we will drift closer again, if only I stay here and listen.)


The universe began with things
that were very close together. This was after
the bang. Since then, they have been moving
further apart. If this failed to happen,
the stars would continuously heat up
space until everything existed
at the same temperature and filled with light.
Human beings would not be able to live
under those conditions. It makes sense then, the constant distancing of bodies.
We tried to erase Pluto and he is still there, more so.