8:30 p.m.

By Leul Getachew

Right now, Leul Getachew studies finance as a third-year student at Virginia Wesleyan University. Poetry, for him, isn’t only words on paper  instead, it’s how he pauses, breathes, notices one instant fully before it slips away. He draws strength from livity, that steady rhythm of being aware.

While everyone’s gone, I was working— thoughts dwelling like a rat in a sewer. Trash piled up, ready to take ’em out, meanwhile, on shuffle, playing tezeta. 

Outside, I see how beautiful the moon is, how the clouds go fast, yet last— reminding me how memories go by, from Mom’s spankings to “heads up,” from family wars to worldly wars. 

They say, “You’re an overachiever,” but for me, if I rest, I think I’ll rust. 

So I keep my hands busy, 

wondering if I could finish my assignments, thinking that I’m a good employee— 

or of sound intellect. 

But at the end of the day, 

I tell myself, just smile, 

’cause you only live once, 

till reality kicks with chores 

undone.