What could these rafters tell us, had they the capacity to say?
Cracked and worn with age, perhaps with the cares
lifted to their vaulted heights,
while overlooking the years of song, of prayer, of play.
What of this court, with its polish, its wax and its lumber?
Stained most certainly by sneakers, by blood, tears and sweat.
A witness to glory, depths of despair;
emotions belying its warm shades of teak and of umber.
On these paths of repose have paced strides unnumbered;
lovers, pranksters, rule-breakers bold.
Whether a stroll or a sojourn
their memories drift; spirits unencumbered.
On this green field of play, what stories are kept?
What camaraderie, brotherhoods, sisterhoods forged?
What ghosts still linger
on this emerald sea once the crowds have all left?
And these hallowed halls, in their grand disrepair?
What secrets could they reveal? Those of singers and actors,
--students on a shifting stage of life.
A lifetime, and more, of memories there.
As a nourishing mother, a difficult brother, a friend;
these walls and these footsteps are not ours alone.
Under a fall harvest moon,
what for so long has lived, shall once more newly begin.
