Page 14 of Ward Willing
Wantinghim.
Needinghis attention.
Maybe I still do, but I’ve gotten better about finding that outlet elsewhere since that night.
He’s protective yet funny when he wants to be. My wellbeing was—is—his first priority, and he made that veryclear on that trip to Catalina.
Which only enhanced my feelings.
“Welcome to Eco-Poetry: Nature and Environmental Themes in Verse,” he says slowly, his low voice reverberating through the auditorium as his hand flies over the whiteboard. “In this class, we will embark on a poetic journey through the natural world and the pressing issues that surround it. My name is Liam Ravage, and I have the privilege of being your professor for the next three and a half months.”
He stops writing on the board and faces us. My eyes glide over the words on the board.
Emotion, thought, action
Each word is underlined, butactionis underlined twice.
“In a world where our connection to nature is more critical than ever, the power of poetry to evoke emotion, provoke thought, and inspire action is becoming increasingly important,” he starts, pointing to the board. “This class represents a unique intersection of two profound disciplines: poetry and environmental consciousness. Over the next several weeks, we will explore how poets from different eras, cultures, and backgrounds have engaged with the natural world and addressed environmental concerns through the beauty and eloquence of verse.”
He rubs his mouth with his hand as his eyes scan the room.
Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me…
His eyes slowly scan each of our faces. “We will consider the ways in which poets have celebrated the majesty of nature, grappled with the consequences of?—”
My heart stops, and Liam’s body jolts slightly when his eyes land on mine. Shock, confusion, and maybe a tiny bit of amusement plays across his features.
He clears his throat and looks down, completely distracted but refusing to lose his composure.
Except he does. He shuffles through his papers, finding the one he was looking for, before clearing his throat again.
“As I was saying, we will consider the ways in which poets have celebrated the majesty of nature, grappled with the consequences of human actions, and imagined sustainable futures.” His eyes flick to mine, and the hint of amusement on his lips is gone, replaced with a small frown.
And his eyes?
They’re dark and stormy.
“Our journey will take us through the works of renowned poets such as Wordsworth, Whitman, Dickinson, and contemporary voices like Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, and Joy Harjo. We’ll also explore lesser-known poets whose voices have been instrumental in shaping the eco-poetry movement.”
He sets the paper down and walks to the front of his desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
“But this class is not solely about academic analysis. It’s also a platform for your creativity and your voice. You will have the opportunity to express your thoughts, observations, and emotions through your own eco-poetry, connecting with the natural world in a profound and personal way. Which is why your first lesson today is not going to be in this classroom.”
Another murmur works through the room, and my eyes haven’t left Liam’s, despite his refusal to look in my direction.
“In a minute, I’m going to end class over an hour early, but that’s not an excuse to fuck off,” he warns, his voice low and threatening. A few people laugh at his use of profanity, but my spine straightens slightly, as if he’s giving me the command directly.
That cage of feelings? Yeah, it’s going a bit haywire right now.
“Go sit on the grass. It’s a beautiful September day. Go for a walk in one of the nearby parks. Sit in nature for thirty minutes, and then write a poem. Any format, any word count. Write down whatever it makes you feel.” A few hands go up, but Liam dismisses them. “There is no wrong way to do this. I’m not going to check or read them. It’s foryou.To start fostering that relationship with nature and poetry. If you still have questions, talk to me on Thursday morning. Until then, enjoy the rest of your day.”
At his dismissal, everyone stands up, and I’m left grappling with mixed feelings.
For one, I didn’t expect him to send everyone off within the first five minutes. Second, should I follow everyone out, or talk to him? If I don’t talk to him now, he’s going to?—
“Ms. Arma? A word, please.”
Well, that settles things.
