You Have to Wonder Why
somewhere in the
decade of the seventies
when i went back
after the short spell away
for growing tall and filling out
the first thing i noticed
was how small
the classroom desks
appeared to be
compared to what
i remembered
the uncomfortable chairs
the seats that lift
the forgotten pen marks
and carvings underneath
how the walls
printed in my memories
as colorful and bright
stood silent
chipped and cracked
in need of a
fresh coat of
unleaded paint
the longer i stood
in the cloistered space
the more the rooms
began to shrink
shut down
squeeze out
the last breath
of stale air i was
unconsciously holding in
i began to see
how crowded it
must have been with
all the faces from a past
i never wanted to remember
but now did
i asked myself
where did they go
how did they end up
the girl who always seemed so sad
the ones who brought the lice
the smelly boy who stuttered when he spoke
the truant who got thrown out
what horrors did they carry
what lessons did they tote
in their worn book bags
i wondered for a moment
if they ever thought of me
though even then
i rarely thought of them
i glanced at graded
crayon drawings
pinned to the cork boards
the endless canvas of black slates
the chalk dust everywhere
powdering the erasers and
spilling on the floor
the flag at the head of the class
the warnings hung near the ceilings
the crucifix above each door
began to sense the hidden
cords and wires that bound
the narrow words and numbers
that a conclave of archbishops
not long before decided
had to be taught for
good christian men to have
the worldview
not to fold under
but i knew the pedagogy
if one could call it that
just kept us all in line
and so i saluted
what i believed
was my final goodbye
walked one last time
down the worn granite steps
of the parochial school
i most days had to climb
the school where
i was enrolled and
where my parents and
their parents before them
had attended without a thought
in the shadow of the adjacent church
i winced then smiled
at being lucky
to have made it out alive
vowed to myself
not to play the fool
to send my kids someday
somewhere else to school
and so i have to wonder why
that half a lifetime later
i am still forking over
the tithe and the tuition
my rudderless conviction
washed over by salty waves
of family and convenience
and not knowing how to do it better
my youngest on the bus
in a uniform woven from
the fabric of another life