Tales flew on the wind, west of the lake,
of bombs falling in distant lands,
the black eagle’s wings clipped.
Here, quiet reigned. No homes or
storefronts ravaged by war. Peers not bombs
took the words right out of our mouths.
The one room schoolhouse sits
dormant. Memories of kinder who spoke the old tongue.
Descent on display everyday not just on holidays.
It spoke of no separation by
age or grades. It didn’t boast a cafeteria or
eight-hour days.
Klassenzimmer. K-12. Stripped naked.
Pale skin made to stand in the front of the class.
Born this way. Stuck this way. Original sin.
Ever the listener. Never the Lehrer.
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