By Lealina Evangeline A. Reyes
There is drizzle from the sky,
the sound of thunder masked
By the footsteps of strangers whose voices
once echoed through the halls
The steady pulse of people
coming and going, passing by and through—
Shoulders touching, hands brushing,
air flooding the senses until it is overwhelmed
Who are they, the ghosts of june school bells
and lunchtime prayers
who paused once in a while?
Have they come to relive what has been
and behold what has become?
Footsteps mark the wet soil—
infinite, indistinguishable.
The past and present intertwined under festive lights—
dwelling souls called forth to come together
My shoes are muddy from the now calmed rain,
the cold August air kisses my cheeks
With the promise of a warm embrace
“Welcome home,” it says—home and welcomed I am
