Another beginning

We go down to Gnat Creek in search of poems on a Friday afternoon in early May. Three weeks to convince our unimpressed faces of the merits of Donne and Pope, is what the State curriculum has awarded this group of budding adolescents and Miss Reason has reached the limits of her abilities in this endeavor. Truth be told, I have little fondness for poetry, despite my love of the written word, save for a particular poem concerning a moose’s face being as sad as the face of Jesus that Miss Reason keeps tacked up by the pencil sharpener in her classroom. But there are no moose in Camilla, although Paisley Mitchell tells me that there could be moose in Camilla if only Jesus wills it to be so. Paisley’s sorrow, kept hidden behind a face that looked like it was forever smelling something foul, is that her little brother, Fenner, drowned in a fly fishing accident three summers ago. They told her that Jesus wills us home to him when he sees fit, and the will of Jesus has since been printed upon Paisley’s every thought, poor thing. But I know that most of my classmates, Paisley included, would not see a moose in their lifetimes. I really wanted to see a moose so that I could see if his face really did look as sad as Jesus’s face, but then I realized that I don’t have a clear picture of Jesus’s face to use in comparison. So now I figure, if I see a moose in my life, fine, but if not, I’m not going to feel bad about it. A metaphor is a metaphor, and not to be taken too seriously. This Miss Reason must know.
I am at the front and Lloyd Murphey's at the back taking his precious time, as we all march like distracted ants behind the football field and down the kudzu bank, and that’s strange to me because Lloyd is supposed to be my boyfriend, but he doesn’t seem very devoted. Poetry has the best chance on Lloyd because he’s been to Paris twice but doesn’t have any friends except me. Miss Reason told us that all the great poets spent a lot of time in Paris and then committed suicide because they were so miserable and alone. I’m only Lloyd’s girlfriend because he’s my neighbor and my mother has made me walk home with him every day from the bus stop since he moved here eight years ago. I told I’d walk home with him, but I wasn’t going to be his friend, and my mama said Oh yes you will. I used to tell him at least once a week that the only reason I was his friend was so I wouldn’t get hit. He always said that he appreciated it.