Memory Lane

The dust of the nearby construction mutes the reflective surface of the floor,
Accented by the sour paint smells and loud hammering noises from the addition.

Neatly paired little boots sit outside the little lockers
Labeled with the students' names written on pieces of bright paper.

Through the closed doors leak the distant sounds of children;
The same children whose youthful drawings and brief writings decorate the halls.

A piano begins to play in the distance, a music class begins to sing along.

A janitor loudly sets up a ladder and rattles about, replacing an old lightbulb.

A short child passes by, barely noticing me, not knowing the memory he brings back
Of when I was among those making the happy childish sounds, faint through the closed doors....

Paper Christmas wreaths adorn the classroom doors
And I know that soon these children will make their own
To carry home and hang on the wall or fridge as I once did when I was young....

And though the classrooms have moved, though the teachers have changed
The atmosphere of that place brings back myriad old memories....