I knew I was back at Swarthmore when …
greener pastures I never saw
dropping 50¢ to park 5 hours
a fire horn blast before ten steps out the car
breath came faster ascending towards Parrish, mirage, Laputa
accosted by a visitor inquiring about Swarthmore’s Quaker roots
caution: extra high step in Hicks
twelve Tarble tolls on the forty-five (major key)
old faces ready to accept my meal card
for wheat, spicy cheese, hummus, sun-dried tomato so familiar
waves of nostalgia (sympathy) for students curled asleep in coffee couches
trying to decipher an AI project write-up, Lisa walks by
speaking with ä¸æ–‡è€å¸ˆ, I’ve never left
asked by Kathak student, “Are you a spec?”
he is gay
joy of African Dance a monsoon of recall
ruddy smell of McCabe mystery leads me downstairs
I am wrapped by the ward of a protected world
but I have to leave