Could Have Been Grotesque

By any other idiom it could have been grotesque
but we managed to celebrate without the mass
protest expected of such drunken graduand revelry;
and we wrote more words on the cigarette papers,
lit them individually with matches scratched on
surfaces suiting the expression, cast them into the
breeze. Now what was the purpose of that? To this
day I have wondered but nothing replicates the ease
and contiguity of that night, the flow of our feelings,
the exorcism of a mighty burden we’d lived with
for five years. We were worthy, we were free and
we wrote those words with lipstick stolen from the
purses of gifted girls, or begged from the same with
promises of tomorrow. Our words were supposed
to be unrevealed, offerings in sacrosanct privacy
at a makeshift shrine on the overbridge between
the library and the student union. It was a communion
of feelings, offerings and forgiving. I wrote with feeling,
FUKU, there wasn’t room for any more.
© I.D. Carswell 2006