death of a liberal arts college

death of a liberal arts college
1965-2026

this morning i woke having sweat 
out a fever, still stumbling through virus
dreams of garbled time and place, to hear  |
you will be dead by autumn

a stubborn refusal to go softly, |
they will say you were another 
expected casualty, a bottom line 
ending, a tough sell in a world 
that needs solution, not abstraction

the headlines and comments will 
mock you as they have for decades,
they’ll cheer for a restoration of sideways 
balance and one size fits all education
the story is similar no matter where we look:
a post covid financial disaster only exacerbated
by the pre covid financial woes that came first
a trump era target (laugh reaction, angry reaction, 
a few dozen thumbs up) a bubble of entitled liberal 
children conning themselves into thinking this is how 
the real world works, with their lofty dreams based in  
wonder rather than bootstraps – 

the farm, dirt coating the birkenstocks i spent a whole summer before college wearing in,
stepping right into fields of vegetables and cow shit and leftover compost. the red barn at sunset
where we swore the mountains would give way if we asked them to. the classroom where i was
brave enough to speak on the allegory of the cave even though i sounded eighteen and naive,
because i was eighteen and naive. the shedding of a religion that was never mine. the woods
parties with pbr and pot and surprisingly bad music. the protests to keep you alive. the protests to
keep our friends and neighbors alive. the common room cheers as i swapped spit with another
girl and an orange cat pissed on the carpet as it all happened. the class called emptiness. the
donut shaped housing where i almost lost my life and the lofted room where i found it again. the
second floor of the library on a snowy sunday in february when psychoanalysis and i became
friends. the arts barn installations. the strange drum-fire-singing circle we encountered once in
the middle of the night. the first big tattoo i got and how its newness stung that night in the
shower, but i couldn’t stop grinning all the same. the seance we tried in the basement of the
library. the iced mochas made by the hottest queers on all of campus. the normalcy in going
barefoot any and all places. the best vegetarian salad bar to grace a college. the 9am vintage
thrifted fashion shows to learn about trauma and redemption. the friends lost in immaturity and
the ones gained in last minute decisions. the shaved head i sported all of third year. the summer i
snuck onto campus to do my laundry because i would not pay a machine elsewhere. the poetry
critiques, the critical psychology lessons, the airport lounge during finals. the naked, drunken
bodies wrestling in the mud during keg hunt. the way you dragged forward after every
unpromised year. the awkward encounters with a past lover because there were only so many
buildings to hide in. the mistakes made. the bell ringing outside the library. the greatest
experiment we had the privilege of participating in – 

your friends that went before said things like 
an act of creation 
let it all hang out                                 
to have and to share 

you said 
for every answer there is a question to be asked 
and a process of reasoning to be explored

for every longstanding policy and procedure
there is an opportunity to build something new 

for every problem based in injustice or disillusionment 
there is a creative call to action we cannot ignore 

you said 
to know is not enough. 

Lauren Arienzale is a resident of Sunderland and a Hampshire College alumna.