The Latin Honor I Did Not Earn (Cum laude)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Pemba stood in the hall at four pm,
on that Tuesday in June, two thousand nineteen.
The air was eighteen degrees, cool with salt from the waves outside.
He held the paper plaque, edges rough like the bark of an acacia.
Black ink in Tibetan script: 'With Praise,' it said,
but I knew the Latin echo, cum laude, the honor I did not earn.
Edward Cummings got his in eighteen eighty-three at Harvard,
but here on Point Nemo, it's just a pinprick of recognition.

[Chorus]
The plaque hangs now, pinned to my robe with that iron pin,
rusted at the tip, the one Pemba pressed with steady hands.
Cum laude, with praise, but my grades were average,
no summa, no magna, just this paper fluttering like a flag.
I trace its edges, feel the weight of words that sound one way,
mean another, innocent as the juniper smoke that filled the room.

[Verse 2]
The brass bell rang once, sharp, echoing three seconds off stone walls.
I knelt on the woven mat, red and gold faded from years,
while Pemba pinned it, the plaque crinkling slightly under his thumb.
No crowd, just the distant crash of waves at latitude forty-eight south.
Later, the tsampa in the bowl, roasted barley mixed with butter tea,
nutty and salty, a reward for showing up, not for brilliance.

[Bridge]

They say in Yale records, nineteen twelve, a typo once read 'cum laud,'
missing the e, causing brief confusion among the honored.
Mine has no typo, but still, I didn't earn it—Pemba smiled anyway,
pinning praise where effort barely met the mark.
Cum laude, the phrase that whispers double meanings,
like a word from the album, sounding dirty, isn't.

[Verse 3]
Now the plaque sits on my shelf, next to the sextant from the helm,
a reminder of that afternoon, the incense curling, grounding me.
Edward Cummings might have framed his, but mine is just paper,
thin as the line between honor and the joke it hides.

[Outro]
Cum laude, pinned and done.