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