Our gowns all rustled in a plume of red,
I felt a little like a parrot, perched upon my plastic seat,
With spiky sunshine puncturing my skin,
And marbled beads of sweat running down our spines
That arched and curved in vain attempts
To stave off heat that swathed the cooing birds.
It was, of course, unfortunate that the heatwave hit
The day we were to walk the stage.
And yet it strangely added something to
The summer dream that day became,
Remembered as a Polaroid that slowly burned
When my name was called.
I smiled and tilted mortar board
If only others knew the heat
Between that teacher and myself.
I shivered as the memory called,
The way he gasped the night before,
Falling into downy pillows, still hot
With rays of sun through afternoons
Of heat of which we’d never seen before.
He shook my hand, his eyes kept low,
I saw the sweat stains on his shirt
And wished that I could call him out.
Not a woman but a student in this gown,
I knew that we would never share a bed again.
Rachel Hessom is a writer based in the UK. She writes daily poetry on her blog, patientandkindlove.com and she enjoys tweeting words that vaguely represent poems. She is currently training to be an English teacher so that that she can pass on her love of literature to the next generation.
Image via Pixabay