A freshman highlights the points he understands,
The mundane, the insignificant.
Exclaimation points riddle the margins
and I attempt to figure out what he was so excited about.
His lines terminate halfway through chapter two...
of a ten chapter book.
This is the person who scribbled
amy whinehouse in the front cover...
of a book tending to a Freirian critique of the construction of whiteness.
A graduate student's excitement is easy to spot
in the messy stars,
lines shaky, meandering,
etched from the passenger seat
of a speeding Ford Focus
on the way to Philadelphia...
for a Phish concert.
An assistant professor quickly scribbles
gray carbon astericks in the corners of important pages
that detail dense theory
giving her new perspectives on her own research.
She'll come back to these pages tomorrow. It's midnight...
and she's still in her office high atop the ivory tower.
In search of my own place beside her,
I carefully underline
lightly enough not to disturb others as they skim these words
after June 1st when my lease is up.
I envision space for these words in my own dissertation
and how they will dance with the others,
the squatters in my literature review who've claimed it their home.
My baby cries in the background,
the sound of basketball blaring on the TV downstairs.
My lines mingle with yours and theirs,
this story becomes our story.
We've all been there,
all headed somewhere new,
alone and together.
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