Narrative work.

Part 1.

I’ve been here before,
to visit,
but it’s different now.
Inside my mind,
this campus already exists,
elevated in an autumnal cloud of sugar maple leaves:
orange, or red, or yellow,
and often some impressionistic combination of the three.
It smells of sugar maple, too,
and oak barrels full of apples,
and sometimes overwhelmingly of cow manure, in a nice way.
My memory’s blinded by the impossibility
of so many clear-skinned teenagers,
so many white toothed teachers
and the echo of head-masters past,
present,
and future,
claiming, “Nobody has a bad experience at Vermont Academy.”

Nobody?

xx monique