Fear of an English Degree
I hang in the air of the library, still and cold,
And glance over at the table on my right,
Seeing a student’s notebook filled with
Sketches of the electron transport chain,
and notes on passive vs. active transport.
I look over to my left and see theorems and formulas,
Stabbed from every direction with little arrows,
Explaining and understanding.
I go back to what I’m supposed to be reading,
One single line of Sappho on a white page . . .
“I do not expect my fingers to graze the sky.”
They read about curing diseases and discovering the meaning behind nature,
I read about reminding myself that I’m shorter than the sky . . .