Thursday, January 3, 2013

For Mrs. Davis, My Lifelong Teacher, and Mentor


We met in a class for smart folks:

She, a teacher in her forties,

I, a kid in trouble, agile, inflexible,

She always looked out for the ones she cared for.

 

You could disagree, yell, fight,

Yet, if she saw the light,

That sparkling hint of brilliant movement,

She would draw it out,

Drag it out of your system.

Capture it and make it stand out for all to see,

For the whole world to eyewitness.

 

I know how she works,

The world is her stage, her one-time performance,

Its inhabitants-her audience,

She stands there in her checkered shirt and light-colored pants,

She teaches the world by example,

She is talented herself, but her students are smarter—

At least that’s what she thinks.

 

She really doesn’t give herself much credit,

I mean…to have taken care of a sick, old father till they parted, to have educated, Hundreds,

To have withstood life and the shocks that break us down, to have fought,

Fought to the last,

To have given it all and still retained her noble heart.

 

She’s my teacher, my mentor, my idol,

A woman in her prime,

A prime she’s been in for her entire life,

I remember the time she caught Adrian in his wise-guy attempt to make some trouble,

Her eyes flashing, her tongue like a whip,

 

Lashing out at every cruelty, every dishonesty, every pretence at false judgment,

The light from distant galaxies may wane, presidents may come and go, the world may disappear,

But some things will be remembered forever.

2 comments:

  1. Very touching tribute. I am sure she appreciates it, wherever she is.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks so much for the really nice feedback! I'm still in touch with Mrs. Davis, and if you know her and want me to tell her something from you, let me know...

    ReplyDelete

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