Homage To a Third Grade Teacher
Homage to a Third Grade Teacher
I see it now
the cork with holes
the wood around it splintered,
but it was our window to the world.
On it he would display
a thousand hoarded pictures
from calendars long outdated,
but in his mind; useful still.
I see his window opening to those faraway places
meant to be visited,
longing for my feet
to hit their pavement.
The letters he had cut from
nine inch by twelve inch
stock construction paper
was a treasure of promises.
If only I could get my hands
on such gold and rubies, pearls and emeralds;
such treasures I could pirate
to my place of sanctuary.
And then it happened;
the opportunity I had longed for:
the very window to my soul
would be displayed for ungrateful eyes to see.
While others played and messed themselves
with mud and clinging dirt
I messed with greens and red
and opened the window to a whole new world.
A splash of red right there
and yellow, green and brown;
the colors of an autumn world
that I could only hope someday to see for myself.
There is one I remember still;
a solitary tree
standing as a guard
on that sunlit hill.
I placed it high in the top right corner of up and down
for all to see
but gently it was removed
to teach a lesson in the clout of color.
“Red,” he said, with intensity of truth;
“Red is the color that will not be overlooked.
Red always asks to be in the center,
in the spotlight of its world.”
And so he moved it to the center stage;
one red autumn tree
set against a bright blue sky
shouting to the cosmos: “Look at me!”
I’ll not forget that lesson
taught on that old cork window;
red is a favorite hue
because it commands our eyes.
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