At 54, you graduated, new teacher
second career, masters' degree, rightful
use of your gifts, shared dream,
chance for me to help you help kids.
I loved to make name tags
each August, learn names for
each new class, mentor sad girls,
teach fourth graders story telling.
You were a teacher and I was
your wife. We crafted our own
informal Peace Corps volunteerism.
Dream fed our need to help.
It's all over now. You want out of
the classroom after seven years,
some sweetness, too many shut minds,
Frustration that your gifts ring hollow.
The door is locked No good to bang
it with my fists. I lean against shut door
to your classroom, smell chalk dust,catch
breath., check out the hall for new dreams.
November 1, 2001