Our dearest McAuliffe school
Mummified
In sheets of cloth and scaffold.
No more looking out the window.
No more Verrazano.
Trapped.
When the wind blows,
You can see her
Punching
Fighting
‘Gainst her binds.
We pray,
We hope
For her perfecting,
Painful
Transformation into
—Maybe—
Paradise
The Swerve 