School Borders
Walking up uneven sidewalks—
up cracked little hills of pavement,
past dingy apartments
gliding through trailer parks—
rough rails and low fences
skidding my fingertips—
reaching the dampened street.
Through an empty crosswalk
where children once would
wait to pass—
vigilant cross guards leading
laughing kids to safety.
Staring ahead at navy-blue walls
once where gathering peers chattered,
beholding the path ahead through the
towering gate—
my heart flutters in
fearful bittersweet.
I wander through those familiar
school gates now darkened—
glaring in the dead of night.
“Go home,” it warns,
as I pass—wiry wind behind me
rattling the black metal
openings.
“It’s dark out here.”
No voices…
No teachers…
No students…
No faculty…
No giggling…
No taunts…
No lunch lines…
No time-outs…
No tardy slips…
No restrictions tonight—
but there is trash from yesterday
splayed along the wet grounds—
midnight rain ceasing.
Do I feel exhilaration
or shame walking through
this graveyard of academia?
What am I learning in this
strange silence?
I try not to recall
the dead black cat wedged
in a crevice of split concrete,
located in a locked, gated corner
past the large, muddy PE field.
I used to play there.
I would gaze through that locked gate,
terrified of what I would see—
but it was empty
Then.
Now,
near the edge of school grounds,
I hear her hiss from where I stand,
as if she is warning me.
I would hate to be
locked up into your dark corner—
destined to gaze up lifeless
at an unforgiving night sky—
destined to exist lonely
amongst the screams,
coaches’ whistles and laughter
from oblivious children and teachers.
In my wildest dreams,
I hold endless keys to locked gates—
filled with ends and hard truths
most will fight to forget.
She taught me something
that makes my blood grow cold:
there is far more to learn now
than ever before—
beyond these school borders.
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2024
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