Yeshiva University High School For Girls - Elchanette Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Page 9 text:

six times the bell would ring and I would leave the sound to move at will, allow a grey and darkened wall to soak the sound and swallow the sound into mortar and rotted wood, and I would hear the sound, the dying din, sink slowly into silence silence. And there would be time for me to hear the gentle morning moisture rock the sand and lift the sea. So I would walk a while, tracing the surf with a bare foot and sometimes, while sitting and watching the sun, I would try to remember other things. The evening before, I had waited for a time, looking at the shadow of a freighter vessel rocking with the sea. A fantasy and fabulous come naked as the myth of night stripped down to flesh and taut limb, and lay softly in the sand. And I saw one boy walk patiently on soaking sand, he held a stick and traced the life line of the sea, the ripple on the beach he counted as the vein of tears and dark moss gardens hidden deep between the wave rushed stones in secret caves, as secret times. And as the dew began to fall, he ran, his hair blown far and curled by salted air and remnants of that mornings dew. One time the day did dawn before the ringing of the bells and as that dawn woke me from my sleep, I rose to haunt the beach and there I found a different sea. A blanket sea with places messed from love cavorting underneath. I listened closely hearing restless sighs and moving earths and watched as burning waves tossed beneath the wet and heavy quilt. And though the bells began to toll I stood and saw how one young whisper placed its arm about another's waist and breathed her salted breath and slept, and how the other saw her image in the sun and ran her fingers through curled and thick black mist and also slept. And then I knew the morning dew to be the warm and sweet rain of tired islands close and hot between eternities, And still the night brings youths intense with poetry and flashing verse, and though the wind is cool and soft and skies look down on silent stretches, the air is loud with heaving hearts andjourneys sweet with song.

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24 Y.. So cling to the creamed and easy end And know the bending books oftime And lean with lending hours till your break. So touch the guilt of stained and gilted tears And place the poem in pictures standing In that house. ,..,w.magw X5 .,