Why are we here? In a windowless, concrete box walls painted institutional white lights humming, fluorescent, and sterile while above us hovers mortuary stillness and listless antiquated angels— three of four working ceiling fans— attempting but failing, and failing should not be an option, yet it is, an ogre: omnipresent and staring up through the …
On stage, they receive diplomas, carrying our dreams as they exit.
Last morning of school: Happy songs, empty book bags at sun lit bus stops.
Voiceless classrooms filled by empty clicks and taps on computer keyboards.
(i) Hand-written notes of thanks and appreciation: Fuel for next year’s task. (ii) Somewhere among shouts, laughter, and feet running to buses, a bell rings.
Gray student lockers open, empty, awaiting next years load of books.
Seniors’ last day as students. Confetti and cheers signal their exit.
Echoes of footsteps are louder in the empty hallways of late May.
Freshmen review works read this year, realizing they own libraries.
Shaded courtyard earth: Seniors plant flowers that will bloom until next Fall.