marlene wasn’t a 70′s name,
rolling off the tongue
like Lori or Linda or Corie
mär-’leen–with a hard r–
almost sounded matronly,
a great name for a great aunt
you wore your name well,
looking comfortably unkempt
(or should I say dowdy?)
in well-worn flannel shirts and
jeans that bagged at the knees
you had the brightest little eyes,
even behind your glasses,
curious eyes,
eyes of glee and understanding
and the quirkiest, most infectious little smile,
that you flashed often during the course
of a typical class period
and there certainly was a lot to amuse you:
guys teasing girls, girls tsking guys
M.D. begging for a pencil, answers, anything
Cali needing to talk to Kim, right now!
me, stumbling through a lesson–
the class, from time to time, almost out of control
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I’d like to think of you, marlene
as our very own Willa Cather,
sitting at the end of the row
(always on the edge)
absorbing all of our stories and silliness–
in hopes that you one day “felt the stirrings”
to write stories of your own
about life in this small town
Dave,
These poems about kids are bringing tears to my eyes–maybe because there’s something so real, fragile, and wonderful about marlene and the others I’ve read about. I especially like and was surprised by your reflections at the end of the poems. I think you have captured some of the essence of what it is to be a teacher– very real, fragile, and wonderful! Thanks for telling me about your site. I hope you continue writing. Carol
Carol–
I sent you an e-mail in resonse to your comment. Let me know if you received it.
Dave