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 added an extra stanza to this piece, in case anyone was wondering why it is republished. Have a nice game of "find the new stanza" I suppose? Also, I've noticing that this poem doesn't embrace much theme. It's overall just some portrayals of fall, and connecting fall to some things in real life, like the importance of letting go at the right times, and how permanent family is.
If you have time, please review this, thank you! I plan to submit it to Scholastic like the day of the due date in order to have enough time to make sure it's the best version.

When Branta Canadensis Go South

November 7, 2020


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

The sun bends down at two o’clock to through my window; shooting
its lasers through the mistakes of the walls, 
illuminating invisible snow 
the silent content of the mourning doves, and
the rotting of the pumpkins. 

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 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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1 Comment
  • Malkiboy

    Cool! Lovely poem (I think it’s a poem)

    11 months ago