The Academy-North

Poetry in Motion

Sang's POV

I know I'm not really supposed to be Googling things on my own, but it's for homework purposes, so I don't feel quite as badly as maybe I should for disobeying. Besides, how much trouble can I possibly run into online while looking up information on e.e. cummings?  I smile to myself, thinking about Gabriel's response to that rhetorical question. "A metric fuckload, Trouble!"

Sighing loudly, I look over the assignment we received in English class today again. Ms. Johnson started a section on poetry. In an attempt to get the students more engaged with the material, each of us have been assigned a particular poet, about whom we are to become an expert. Oral presentations about the poet's background, and a recitation of our favorite of their poems will make up a huge part of our grade for this unit.  Ms. Johnson assigned the poets randomly, and there was more than one loud groan heard from the class as students found out who they would be studying.

I didn't have strong feelings either way about my assigned poet, e.e. cummings.  Not being familiar with his work, my expectations were tempered, although his apparent eschewing of capital letters annoyed me more than a little. Following rules, even grammar rules, has been ingrained in me and not capitalizing his name unsettled me in a weird way. Maybe I'd find out why he chose to do that as a result of my Google search, I rationalized.

I plugged my headphones into the laptop in front of me. I decided the best way to start my search for a favorite cummings poem was to actually hear one. I clicked on the Google icon and typed "e.e. cummings poems read aloud" into the search engine box. There were thousands of responses. Now I was the one groaning at the thought of having to wade through all the results to find what I was looking for; this task is going to take forever!

I clicked on a link to a poem called "i carry your heart."  I read it quickly, and it reminded me of my boys, but I knew I should read more than one poem before I decided on one to present to the class.  As I stared at the seemingly never-ending list again, my eyes happened upon an entry that mentioned the poem's reader as Tom Hiddleston. I remembered his name from the Avengers movies I had watched with the boys on several occasions. At least it's someone familiar, I thought as I clicked on the link to hear him read "may i feel" by cummings.

North's POV

"Sang Baby!" I called as I loped through Nathan's front door, a smile softening my usually harsh features. I knew she was home by herself because everyone else had missions or had shifts at the diner. I was excited at the prospect of spending some one-on-one time with my girlfriend.

My smile slipped as I realized there was no response from Sang. My heart began to hammer in my chest, and I picked up speed as I rounded the corner and headed to Nathan's bedroom. It's not like her to not answer when we call for her. My breath hitched in my throat, and my palms began to sweat.

I noticed the door to Nathan's bedroom was slightly ajar, and I pushed it fully open with more force than was necessary. I stopped in my tracks and took a deep, steadying breath. Sang was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her back to the door, earphones tucked into her ears, looking at something on her laptop.

I waited a moment for my heart to stop racing and to get my emotions under control. My family thinks I'm an overprotective, overbearing dick at times. And maybe I am. But it's because I love them. Even Luke. But especially Sang. The thought of her being hurt or in need tears at my heart and makes me say and do stupid things at times, which just reinforces my family's opinion of me.

Calmed since I know she's safe, I move quietly into the room a bit farther. From where I'm standing, I can see more of her face, which is rapt as she stares intently at the screen. I get a better look at what she's viewing on the laptop, too. It looks like a video of different clips, all of which have the skinny guy from the Thor movies in them. I notice she restarts the video the second it ends, with a deep, almost lusty sigh. My jeans tighten, and my blood warms at the small guttural sound she makes as she clicks the arrow to restart the video.  Her attention is so focused on the screen that she still hasn't noticed my presence.