Finding Jupiter

I’m finding poetry in the pages of The Great Gatsby this summer. My copy from middle school has started to fall apart, so I’ve ripped out my favorite set of pages and have glued some of the finished pieces into my journal. Gatsby’s life was utterly unfair, and it came to an end because of circumstances that were far out of his control. I can relate. For my found poetry, I’m drawn to the parts of stories where the writing is on the wall and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Gatsby’s goose is cooked. He’ll never get what he wants most.
What do I want? Just once I’d like today to be about the day I was born, not the day my father died.
Sitting in the tree house he built for me, I push away thoughts of him dying while I was entering the world. I unravel my turquoise earbuds, start my James Taylor Essentials playlist, and try to focus.
A calm washes over me as I study the page that I’ve taped to a piece of lined paper. On this page, Tom Buchanan is closing in on Gatsby’s lie, quizzing him about his days at Oxford as Daisy interjects about a mint julep. Shit’s about to hit the fan.

Mr. Nobody.
I write it in pencil on the side of the page. I go back to the top of the page and scan, waiting to find words about Mr. Nobody. I list them as I go.
smiling, snapped, politely, content, desperately, nowhere, alone…
I read the list over and over again, until some words fall away and others seem to float above the page. With each pass, more words join in, calling out to me as the poem makes itself known. Then, finally, the found poetry has found me.
Smiling faintly,
I’ll wait desperately to please Mr. Nobody. Me, with him, Standing alone.

I draw cloudy circles around the words that call to me, in order as they appear on the page. An image of a girl standing alone comes to me and I begin to sketch. When I’m done, I’ll use black ink pens, oil crayons, and a Sharpie to finish it, but that will have to wait. It’s almost time for me to pick up my roommate, Bri, from the airport. In three years of boarding school, this will be her first time coming here. I’m excited to see her, but nervous, too. My neighborhood is worlds away from her fancy Maryland digs.
I’m almost finished packing my things away when I hear Momma’s voice.