Poem: Commencement

Commencement

So, this is what it feels like
he says, hands on the podium,
beginning a speech no one remembers.
I marinate in my own thoughts
wondering, for example, how to scratch
that itch on my back
without knocking over my mortarboard.
People applaud, and I admire
the ceiling of floating acrylic
bending and scattering light
on its way out of the symphony hall.
What if, I wonder, he mentions my name
and I neglect to respond
caught up in smoothing a creased corner
of the program? Wonder is not care.
I feel less present than balconies
of families cheering, and for a person
who stayed up late reflecting
I had little to say to myself.
How does it feel to reach that peak
of Everest, look around, and realize
everyone else there just accomplished
the same thing? To snap
a photograph as if the culmination
could represent the thing itself
like a lake spelling waterfall.
And yet here, I did not want to give this up,
did not want to abandon my wanderlust
because if this is the reward
for hard work, I'll take it.
I spy gallantly robed deans
resting their eyes.
He makes a joke, and perhaps people laugh.
I think of my first day on the job
the first patient who died
the first to unexpectedly live
the nights when I ached for forty minutes of sleep
and the days longing for forty minutes of work.
He lasts about that long
an investment of time
for me to call myself doctor
and yet, I don't really care to get those minutes back.