Billy Collins and Roz

One walks around in a bluegrass field and sees every species of animal imaginable. The person sees a woman frolicking delightfully through the field of daisies. The woman walks into her home, sings songs to her parakeet, and settles herself for the evening. She tosses a field green and strawberry salad for dinner and eats next to the door with curtains blowing in the wind.

“Alice in Wonderland”? No, I don’t think so; just a fantasized prose version on Billy Collins’ “Poetry” to lighten the mood a bit. However, the first time I read this piece, I was almost entirely taken out of our discussion due to its ability to take me back eight years in my educational life.

Seventh grade at Holy Cross School in New Orleans, LA was a rite of passage. We were the big fish of the middle school, moving from the indoor staircase at fifth grade, to the right outdoor staircase in sixth grade, and finally the left outdoor staircase located next door to the wall ball courts in seventh grade. Our class shirts read “Nous sommes du fromage”; “We are the cheese.”

That being said, with cheese comes a rat to show who’s boss. That rat was Ms. LeMay. I’m not sure what frightened me more, her stench of six-day-old smoke, or her voice mimicking Roz from Monsters, Inc. Nevertheless, this was one rat not worthy of a Nutcracker center stage performance. Speaking of a center stage performance, the entire reason why Collins’ poem reminds me of this creature.

Roz’s class was highlighted by the reading of Edgar Allan Poe. In the Poe segment of class, more like all of spring semester, we were blessed with the opportunity to memorize “The Raven.” If this sounds like something that would be in the least bit entertaining to do, then please schedule a visit with your pediatrician. I did not have that choice at the time, so I was granted to pleasure of committing to memory one hundred and eight lines of masterful darkness.

The night before it was time for my center stage performance, I flawlessly recited “The Raven” to my mom and pup. Moment of truth came as my name was called. The first stanza was long walk on the beach with the girl of my dreams. The second stanza was as perfect as a 1990 Pam Anderson. The third stanza; enter Tommy Lee. Not only was I not able to get “silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain” out of my mouth clearly, but I decided it would look better if I just kept repeating the same line over and over again in hope it would trigger some memory. Oh wait, the next line was “So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating.”

I wish that whenever seeing or hearing of rustling curtains I did not allude back to this tragic moment in my academic life, but thank you Billy Collins. You are the cheese.