Long Live Peggy
(From all the students she taught, and who taught her.)

Peggy is dead.
Long live Peggy!

She died on May 21st.
None of us knew Peggy.

I hadn’t thought of her much
since high school science class,
though the smell of formaldehyde
and sulphur lingers in my nasal cavity.

I hadn’t thought of her at all
except when I rub the scar on my thumb
I got from lighting the Bunsen burner
on the marble top table.

I hadn’t thought of her,
except, when I close my eyes,
and see the fetal pig dissected,
its gray flesh pinned open,
its organs exposed.

I cannot bear to touch the locust,
its exoskeleton feels extraterrestrial,
conjuring the irrational fear of witches.

None of us knew her.
Our four years were filled
with first kisses and broken hearts.
Our football stars aren’t as big in old photos
As they seemed in 1983.

Peggy looks taller than I remember.
She lives in that second floor classroom,
hangs out in the teachers’ lounge
smoking cigarettes and drinking Diet Pepsi,
laughing while perched on a window sill.
So why do I feel this tightening in my chest
and squeeze my eyelids so not to cry?

Peggy is dead.
Long Live Peggy.

Alissa Sammarco
June 2, 2023