It was a warm July day, I know,
the same day students swarmed the quad every year.
Two years later, I stood
back in the same sun-warmed spot,
facing the wind-brushed buildings
that stood tall against the suburban breeze.
As students and parents unloaded their luggage,
hauling suitcases and bags up rust-coated stairs,
I felt a faint stirring beneath my feet.
The faded memory of ice cream,
thick and melting in white plastic tubs
as teenagers swarmed the scene with spoons,
occasionally flicking Oreo bits at each other and
basking in their shared revelry.
An old tune seemed to linger like smoke
over the campus grass, and the feeling of an arm
stacked on my shoulder, stacked on another arm
bubbled to the surface of my mind.
A circle of conjoined campers, chanting
helter-skelter in the summer swelter
just like the song said.
And if you had been there in my memories,
I would have taken my arm off of a shoulder,
breaking the chain for just a bit
to hold my hand out to you.
And even if you protested, bashfully insisting
that you didn’t know the lyrics,
I would say that we could write them along the way.