Forever a Mustang: Lasting Impressions

Four years is enough
time to leave a hoofprint,
to paint the tree a new color.
South Western founded opportunities
beyond its walls,
but we still filter our world through its lenses:

I

The scent of spring,
of heat returning to us,
reminds me of a warm track,
running laps while farmers spread manure
over surrounding fields.
I remember winning our heat at Penn Relays,
black and white mustangs running across our uniforms,
as gutsy and breathless as we were.

II

III

When feet and ankles ache from the chill
of a mountain stream,
I remember the whirlpool in Mrs. Flaherty's training room,
shin splints soothed to the rhythm of trainers
scooping more ice into the water
and teammates singing to take our minds
off numbing feet and legs.

IV

Sometimes the "Pledge of Allegiance"
at government events
takes me back to homeroom
with its routines and bells.
I hear Mustangvision and the slam of lockers,
and remember studying for our first-period tests.

The hardware store's pencil scent
takes me to the Mrs. Franko's English classroom,
pencil shavings on the shelf by the sharpener,
the room where I fell for poetry,
Gerard Manley Hopkins' "dappled" images
still echoing from cement walls.

VI

Mustang convertibles fly down highways in every city,
and horses run across people's t-shirts.
We claim that symbol,
not the commercialized version,
but the mustang we allowed to have metonymy over us,
the mustang on the flag raised in front of the school.

Wind makes horses more spirited,
makes them buck and toss their heads.
During a storm, I sense a new spirit in horses,
an energy that sustains and intensifies no matter what,
through state championships and big losses,
through academic banquets and pep rally sit-ins.

In the pointed architecture of cityscapes,
I sometimes see the compass star
giving vision and direction,
the same black and white linoleum star in the lobby,
where past students had lunchtime dances,
treading its points with purposes
and futures not yet clear.