If this sofa could speak,

it would tell you of a group of girls, and a guy or two, who has shared its room.

It would spin for you fantastical stories of heartbreak and loss, friendship and family.

This sofa could paint for you pictures of crying girls,

and tell you of all the times they have come for a place to rest.

If you asked this sofa to describe itself 

with only one word

it would use the word safe.

For this sofa is humble

but knows who it is.

 

If the sofa in Deboer’s room at the middle school could speak,

it would tell you of three girls who became friends because of it.

It would speak of abuse,

and the kids who did not appreciate it.

But then it’s voice would turn soft

as it told you about how deeply these girls loved it,

and how thankful it is to have played a part in changing their lives.

 

If the sofa in DeMeester’s room could speak,

who knows the stories it would tell.

Stories of kids who learned to dream and love in its room.

That sofa would act out for you the most dramatic stories of heartbreak and pain

and of the dreams that rose from the ashes.

Its voice would break as it told you of the fights it has witnessed

and become hardened as it told you about the kids who laid broken on it.

But then it would smile as it spoke with joy about every child it watched grow

and become strong.

 

If this sofa could speak,

this sofa in The Central Trend room,

it would tell you my story.

It could tell you so much of my story.

For this sofa has held my tears— comforted me when I was broken.

This sofa has rejoiced with me—celebrated all my triumphs.

This sofa has been with me as I made friends, and as I lost them. 

The sofa in The Central Trend room could tell you our story—

the story of our staff.

And what a story it would be.