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
Her hair was matted
Her face wrinkled
Her look screamed
and trickled pain.
I’ve fallen in love with Saturday afternoons
Especially when I roam 3rd street
And watch the dew-like activity
Fluster out onto the street
Surrounded by the town
Passing by us
Because I don’t understand
What it means
To utter those three words
Struck down by