After seventeen years of
Living and breathing and feeling
I almost want to rewind everything
And start over again
Hallways and doorframes and lunchrooms:
I’ve walked them for the past four years,
tracing the steps of period 1 to 8,
bell after ring after ding after done with this.
The best things in life happen
slow, and never cease. Like
the way your make peace
with yourself, or the way you grow.
It was a blow unlike any other that
left me winded, screaming for breath
panting for losing that part of us.
The gang met by Joe’s pond
The boys of summer, reaching into
Our souls to lift some inkling of
Childhood left withering in ourselves