In the spring, there are few places I’d rather be than at Nebraska Wesleyan University. This is the first year since 2016 that I haven’t spent the spring there, and it’s hitting pretty hard. I’m missing my favorite trees, and the purposefulness of studying.
Also, today is the anniversary of my husband’s and my engagement, so maybe I’m just feeling extra wistful.
Three Days
You loved it there–
being forced to wake up
before the clouds had a chance to rise
off of the grass,
and walk to class, clutching things
you hoped you knew.
The trees in spring
spoke in half-thoughts and secrets;
they rustled in expectation:
You will make great discoveries.
You will find the truth
strained through tired eyes.
Possibilities reached up tendrils from the dewy earth,
drifted, gossamer-silent, in fragrant dunes,
drawing you beyond windows,
leaving behind unfinished stories.
Perhaps you are a ghost now, lost among dusty volumes,
sighing in the forgotten corners of rooms
that once rang with your singing.
You were alive there.
You were fervent, you were a fountain.
Now, frozen in winter like Debussy’s naiades.
Will you
sing again?
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