Senior Prom

Crepe paper streamers woven into a canopy of blue and white

stretched from railing to railing, basketball hoop to

basketball hoop in an ancient gymnasium, its floor sunken,

this coliseum of old victories pitting man against man

in a contest of wills, to score, to win, to rise up victorious

over our enemies, enemies only by virtue of school color and mascot,

Shipbuilders vs. Dragons, Blue and White against Orange and Black.

But that night, under those crepe paper streamers, we danced

and celebrated the victories of our own youth, our own contest

of wills, to learn, to grow, to rise up victorious over ourselves,

over those forces of childhood that propel us into adulthood.

So we danced, just one couple among the many in this ritual of

formality and farewell, farewell to youth, farewell to ourselves,

farewell to each other, and dancing close we hold on in a desperate

embrace to capture this time, make it last, forever,

the space between us filled with idle talk and chatter,

or with an awkward silence meant only to slow down time,

anything to fill that gap between us that separates, divides,

moves us apart after the last dance ends, as you go your way and me, mine,

alone out into a world we may not be ready for, not yet ready to face alone.

But for now we dance around and around that ancient gym, victorious,

two people clinging to each other, clinging to a moment we shared.

Today those memories once forgotten in the in-between of youth and age 

come alive again, detail-less memories of blue and white streamers

strung across a gymnasium and of the girl I danced close to, held close,

desperate to stay young and to keep the moment alive,

a moment of youth lost on an ancient floor of old victories.