Huba Huba

United States

Writer, poet, musician, wanna-be-botanist.
Sleep deprived.
Call me a monster, I put milk in before the cereal.
I'm probably eating ramen right now or having a mental breakdown.
Imagine having an aesthetic bio
Joined: May 26, 2020

Message to Readers

I appreciate everyone who's reviewed my piece, it's been so helpful! This will probably be one of my final versions of this ;)
With everyone's praises, I can say that I'm very confident with this piece this time.

When Branta Canadensis Go South

November 3, 2020

FREE WRITING

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When Branta Canadensis Go South

The screen on my window blurs my view, but I see
the leaves turn from an emerald to gold and vermilion. 
Colorful polyester and wool flies over our heads when the air chills, 
so there’s no conspicuous green apple of the red, 
and we’re a mass of emotions and flesh. 
Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone? 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

Only when I lie still, in the fallen leaves, and look up, 
I realize that clouds chatter together. 
Clouds are like herds of elephants, 
traveling with their families from place to place, and no one
needs a home as long as they’re with one another.  
I’ve never seen one cloud formation twice. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

My crimson rose garden evanesces, 
and my tomatoes and squash pass away.
Life flows out of my garden, an endless flux, 
but the seeds I traded for a cow, 
metamorphose into a beanstalk reaching the sky, 
and I grieve my sacrifice for the cow. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South

Summer, my love, why don’t I feel warm with you?
Our embraces bring me fatigue, 
while our conversations are so monotonous...
so I wonder who I am to you, 
and who you are to me. 
They say it’s time to let go. 

Yet...

Yet my family still chatter about the miniscule things,
the egg tart aroma lingers in our kitchen, 
my sister still sings like the Gavia immer, 
the shower is always equipped with aloe shampoo, 
gravity still pulls apples down on people’s heads, 
but everyone around me always raises me up. 

When Branta Canadensis Go South, 
    I know they’ll come back. 

 
There's many ornithology references in this poem, and it's due to my studying. 
Branta Canadensis is a fancy shmancy scientific name for Canadian Geese. They fly towards the south when they hibernate, and I live in the North, so this is poem outlines the season change, and how it brings along many other changes with it, while mentioning that some things stay the same in spite of the season. 
Gavia immer is the common loon, birds with very interesting and unique calls. I'm not saying that my sister sings super well and professionally (she's only six actually, never taken lessons before, but somehow wounds up tunes in her head). I mean she sings in a unique way that may appear strange to the outside view. 
The poem also incorporates many of my random thoughts as I sit around or lay around, admiring the fall scenery, such as how clouds "travel." 
Oh no, my foot is going numb and I need to stomp on it without waking my family. I must go. 

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2 Comments
  • woven_moth

    Also-- love the name haha


    10 months ago
  • woven_moth

    Hi! This is so good, I love how detailed the descriptions are. Also the question "Can you imagine an autobiography of everyone?" really got me thinking. It also sets up the rest of the writing well. Very nice. Btw, thanks for the conpliment on my piece. I actually didn't even really think about that, I sorta just wrote. Looking back on it though, I think I was writing about a part of me that I don't like. Like another identity that lives inside me that I can't get rid of. Idk ha, great question :) on another note....piano is so great. What kind of music do u like to play?


    10 months ago