Saturday, March 11, 2017

My college closed in 1973.

As Emily Dickinson said, "My life closed twice before it closed"

Sometimes I look across to the college


I can see the brick buildings and the five turrets – the Chapel, Brute, Verdier, Burlando…

In the mild March evening at 6Pm before dark, I imagine that over there, across the lawn,

The college is going on with its life as it did fifty years ago. 
  My young self and my friends are there, leaving the dining hall and walking back to the dorms, laughing and talking.  The next day’s classes, the papers due, the ideas that rose from that day’s lectures… the boyfriends…

What did we talk about?

I see them as ghosts, and a lump rises in my throat… the days that are no more, but that weirdly, live within us.


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