the place

the place

that friday in class,

the year the city shook,

and buildings fell like cards

from the sky,

the stop motion cinematography

of it all,

we sat in class

full of joy and fear,

shaking with the anticipation

of our afternoon release,

the beer run, the paper cups,

2.5 days of freedom.

three beers in,

we sat on the bench

outside the skateshop,

darkness falling over the city above,

alone in our sunken reverie,

hidden, mostly, occassional glances down,

but otherwise ignored.

i looked up

to see the stone wall,

the rising iron gate,

the roof, just low enough to reach,

remembering trees

and molded rock walls,

hexagonal steel and playground’s rubber mats,

of climbing and hanging,

running across the courtyard

my feet on the ledge,

arms pulling up,

legs reaching out,

one hand on the roof above,

and the graceful heave.

the roof was empty,

black tarry segmented waves,

undulating for seeming miles,

and there, at the far side,

stacked bricks on pallets.

i touch them,

and loosening one from the top,

look out over the side of the roof,

see them laughing, smoke rising above them,

the weight of the brick in my hand,

the white of it leaving me, arcing pattern,

tumbling through the air,

shattering on the ground below,

too drunk to aim at much,

the energy of that lonely rooftop,

the secret place within

the city around us,

and nothing but laughter

at the swirling pieces,

scattering at their shocked feet,

hiding,

silent, shaking laughter.

That place stood empty

for so many years,

and finally,

transformed by time,

reoccupied,

I stood in that same courtyard,

full of circling newness,

a roof top no longer ours,

only to look up

and wonder at the loss.

Charles Imbelli 
2010