Our Camelot

Denise Hill

That empty school and parking lot
normal when the season is hot
has weeds now grown in every crack
no students will be coming back
no building opened as it ought.

I sit instead in this one spot
behind the screen, it’s all I’ve got
replacing solid mortared brick
that empty school.

My students’ lives already fraught
resiliencies are all pulled taut
my promise I will not take back
to forge ahead, no afterthought
mythologize our Camelot
that empty school.

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