The senior E/H class’ recent flex blocks have been dedicated to analyzing and responding to poems from Natasha Rao’s Latitude. Students were asked to analyze and present one of the pieces to the class, along with an original poem in response to the work. Here’s a short collection of some of the best responses.
“Geode” by Elsie Hopkins
A poem inspired by Natasha Rao’s “Daisy”
No matter how often you
open yourself up, it is
still frightening to be vulnerable.
Breaking down your hardened shell.
Illuminating the hidden hollow inside.
Exposed to judgment
revealing broken edges
sharper under the gaze of a witness.
Holding out the pieces as offering
blushing in shame at their brokenness.
“Riding Days” by Grant Reiner
A poem inspired by Natasha Rao’s “Walking Days”
In childhood he was magnificent, or he believed
himself to be. The deck was hedged with marigolds.
Tomatoes dangled boldly in the yard. At four he learned to ride horses four times his size. Not his first instance of adrenaline, but one that shaped his
days. His was a youth of family, laziness, play, and especially long summer days that never seemed to end. Never alone, but always with his twin brother, mother, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a multitude of friends. He was drawn to people,
young and old. Suddenly he understood the world wasn’t as friendly as he thought. People were still kind, but he could see ulterior motives. It was school that brought him to that realization. He no longer made the rules but was driven by a fear of the future. It wasn’t because of anyone’s expectations. It was the pressure he put on himself to succeed. He learned how to do things according to someone else’s timetable. It began to feel like sleepwalking, just going through the motions and not thinking. Look at him now, dodging questions about the future. All the days are long in a room full of zombies even though the year is flying by. He starts to feel more like the horse than the rider. The horse is smaller, or is he bigger? He is being led along the path, less and less in control of the reins, aware of the cliff ahead, unsure if he can turn.
“Januarying” by Jasper Selwood
A poem inspired by Natasha Rao’s “Decembering”
The dust scatters as I take footsteps through
empty riverbeds and red craggy routes.
The air crisp and capped by clouds that promise
future rain. The bristling cacti stand before me
proud and looming, their spines a passive threat.
The hills below seem impossibly far, but
so do the peaks that pierce the ether.
Jackrabbits and roadrunners play hide and seek,
carefree in the little spaces where no one can see.
The desert is a village, a metropolis, a hidden oasis.
The morning sun sun cuts through the shadows
that conceal. The grand opening is over,
the suits are back in their suitcases, but now
someone must stay behind to pick up the mess.
Resolutions made? Resolutions kept?
Everything is easy the night before, when stars
glimmer like the crystal glasses raised high,
when champagne and caviar cloke everything.
I take refuge in my cabin where I eat
tamales, sweet dates, and tart tangelos.
I’m not ready to leave but I’m not ready to stay.
Rejuvenation cannot turn into procrastination.
The settling dust whispers that I must return
to the harsh light of the real world.
I can’t stay shielded by palm trees forever.
“Fascination with Nature” by Conor McGeady
A poem inspired by Natasha Rao’s “Earth Memory”
- Soft raindrops on forestry. Crickets chirping in the dead of night.
I remember when I once witnessed two dragonflies flying in tandem.
I thought: how amazing; how coordinated they must be.
The goosebumps that rose on my arms in the cold of spring midnight
felt like miniature raindrops of their own. As the hours pass, and
the sun breaches the everlong horizon, I finally am able to sleep.
- The roaring cry of salty waves takes the place of my absent headphones.
While the violent motion of currents crashes into algae-covered rocks, I
find myself feeling comfortably chilled; the blazing wave of summer heat
isn’t impenetrable. The muggy afternoons become less burdensome by the
beach. I only long for winter; the pitter-pattering of rain is so pleasant to my
ears.
- Finally, winter time is here. The peaceful blanket of hot chocolate and burning
logs brings my inhibitions to rest. Layering different thicknesses of clothing
before venturing outside feels invigorating. As the year turns anew, and soon
my age as well, comfort covers me like a blanket; and if by chance, there
happens to be snow this year, I’ll surely be wrapped up yet again in a new type
of blanket out on the yard. And as these months of comfort inevitably pass, I
find myself looking forward to experiencing this fascination with nature yet again.
