After the last day of school,
Liz and I walked
down the sidewalk
by the building.
I stopped in front of the entrance.
“Aren’t you glad the year’s over?”
I looked at her, but words
I loved the school
more than any normal person should.
But I could not save it.
Caution tape ribboned the shell of the library,
the storage building had been demolished.
The campus was still a repository
for the archives of countless memories,
and still more
had yet to be made.
“Yes and no.”
“How profound,” Liz said sarcastically.
“I’d think an archivist
would have more words.”
Sometimes you don’t need words.