landslide, neil perry

nine.

soon came the dreaded due date of the oral poetry assignment. celia nervously tapped her feet under her desk as she looked over at neil, who was turned in his seat to talk to meeks. she didn't really know why such a simple assignment scared her so much, but she was anxious about stuttering over her words when speaking in front of the group.

"miss keating." her father said, making her look up from her previous blank stare into space. "the floor is yours."

celia uncomfortably cleared her throat as she felt everyone's eyes settle on her. with a glance over at neil, who was giving her an encouraging smile, she stood from her seat, clutching her paper so hard she feared it would crumble.

"'when i make my way to the edge of the pillar, i can feel the breeze breathing sweet whispers through my hair. and when i close my eyes, at the edge, i can see it. i can see my feet leaving the ground as my wings catch onto the wind. i am flying. it feels so real. but, when i open my eyes, i find that i'm not soaring. my mind has betrayed me once more. my feet remain on the solid ground. what if i fall? i can't risk the pain. i can't risk the loss. all i can think is 'what if i fall? what if i fall?'. then, breaking the silence of my thoughts, i hear the small echo of a voice, ever persistent. 'but what if you fly?'"

the class clapped, and celia looked up, almost having forgotten that she was reading to an audience. she met neil's gaze, and was flustered by the look of pure adoration etched onto his face.

"excellent, miss keating." her father praised, a proud smile on his face. "excellent. mr. perry, you're up."

neil seemed pulled out of a love struck trance as he stood, nearly tripping over his own feet as he unfolded his paper. "'i never set out to write about you. but your name fits each sentence like a perfect rhyme. your smile fits through each pose and through my mind. my own allegory is hidden within my smiles and stares, in hopes that one day i could meet you there. you are poetry personified, and i will recite you until the day i die'"

as he finished speaking, he looked up at celia, blushing as he focused on her smile.

"'to chris.'" knox read when it was his turn. charlie, from behind celia, looked up, grinning. this was about to be good. "i see a sweetness in her smile. bright light shines from her eyes. but life is complete; contentment is mine, just knowing that..." he stuttered as he heard the students begin to snicker, "just knowing that she's alive." defeated, he crumpled his poem as he walked back to his desk. "sorry, captain." he apologized. "it's stupid."

keating shook his head. "no, no. it's not stupid. it's a good effort. it touched on one of the major themes, love. a major theme not only in poetry, but life. what knox has done," he explained, "demonstrates an important point, not only in writing poetry, but in every endeavor. that is, deal with the important things in life-- love and beauty among them."

he began to pace in the front of the class. "and don't limit poetry to the word. poetry can be found in music, a photograph, in the way a meal is prepared-- anything with the stuff of revelation in it. it can exist in the most everyday things, but it must never, never, be ordinary. by all means, write about the sky or a girl's smile. but, when you do, let your poetry conjure up salvation day, doomsday, any day. i don't care, as long as it enlightens us, thrills us, and-- if it's inspired-- makes us feel a bit immortal."

"o captain, my captain," charlie called, "is there poetry in math?"

the class began to chuckle, but keating was serious as he nodded. "absolutely, mr dalton! there is elegance in mathematics. if everyone wrote poetry, the planet would starve, for god's sake. but there must be poetry. and we must stop to notice it in even the simplest acts of living, or we will have wasted much of what life has to offer. now, mr. hopkins, you were laughing at mr overstreet's poem. you're up."