Elan Mudrow
Smidgens
Last First Day Back
In the first day halls arise slight scents
Of layered floor wax, student nervousness
Static new shirts, cotton combed jeans
And hair blended with
The rising cost of chemicals.
After the blurred search for a room number,
We open the same books
We’ve always been opening
Updated with new footnotes, images
Fonts, page texture, and critical theories.
Our talk is mixed with a quiet
Summer attitude of late mornings
Florescent lighting spots a yawn
Coffee appears in an array of costumes
New pens have been invented
To handicap note takers handwriting
Lids of laptops are raised
For the ones who lack concentration
Who claim they are multitaskers
The multitaskers raise the lids
Finishing early as all first days do
The sound of so many steps upon tile
The newborn attempt to find the elevator
We all reach its doors together
The question is the same
Up or down?
16 Comments on “Last First Day Back”
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Elan Mudrow 
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Thank you. My advice is simple. Read. You might try Ezra Pound’s Cantos and tell me what you think is being said.
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Hey fellow-blogger, passed by to thank you for following my blog, Women of Warfare! which is appreciated.
Read a few of your poems and can appreciate your talent and unique train of thoughts, although do not always understand what’s being said.
Loved this poem and love your use of language.
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Last First Days and Last First times. The oh so beautiful mix of nostalgia and love for it! You’ve captured it perfectly and beautifully!
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I love this 🙂 Thanks so much for sharing.
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If indeed this poem marks your own last first day back, may the school year prove to be magically wonderful for you.
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Superb!
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Memories flash and dance as I read your evocative, rhythmic words. For me it was a one-room country school that never heard the concept of elevator, unless it was in regards of want or marks or mathematics or effort. Ten grades in one room, four-and-a-half miles through all weathers. Open a book, make a mess, “Be more neat!” – don’t know how. Ink well, wooden handle with long nib, not built for tiny hands. Teacher with leather strap and bull-whip attitude. Pot bellied stove, too cold to unhook the harness from the horse…Memories…memories…We survived!
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Time has changed , I still prefer notes to laptop
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Great poem and photo
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This photo and your poem is everything.
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Such a glimpse into my past. Lovely poem.
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Wonderful poem Elan, reminds me of my first days at school 🙂
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Love this poem and beautiful photo!
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