I was missing eichberg one day
Tuesday, May 22, 2012 at 04:50AM
Ann Barry Burrows

For those of you who don't know, Eichberg is the Interior Design building in Savannah, a second home to many of us.

Inspired by the poem "Ode to American English" by Barbara Hamby


I was missing finals week one day,

the hot, sweaty heat of Savannah,

being soaked before I get out the door,

drenched by the time I reach class.

Carrying a presentation board,

rushing to get there early and pin up,

or squeeze into Creative Approach.


I was missing all the sleep deprived, pill-popping,

energy-drinking students, red in the eyes,

staring aimlessly at Photoshop,

or a perspective drawing on marker paper:

A sea of Prisma tubes fanning out from not one,

but two or three studio desks.


Yoga mats, pillows and blankets

planted under the desks for something in-between an all-nighter

and a good night's sleep.


I was missing the Eichberg woodshop,

tired students chopping their fingers off.

I was missing the smell of zap-a-gap glue, burning chipboard,

and fixative spray

holding towers and rooms and little fake trees

together to be destroyed the next day,

by a teacher's comments

or no=sleep slip-ups

or back-door swings.


I was missing waiving T-squares

to turn the motion-censored lights back on,

flushing out finals sickness with vending machine

lemon-lime Powerade.

I was missing midnight trips to Five Guys,

eating greasy French Fries,

despite our French lives:

the food cooked for us

and at restaurants they ignore us,

so we can merrily sit,

rolling gently back wine,

made from the vineyards

in the valley we look at.

To then wake up with birds chirping,

and stone streets calling..


I was missing Eichberg one day..

But really, I wasn't.

Article originally appeared on Can't Tell Anyone But You: Written Works (http://www.annbarryburrows.com/).
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