Short Stories for Teachers
For the record I've
Watched many a sun rise.
Felt dawns burst into color and energy.
Witnessed light, its pallet - day.
Pondered for moments by a stream.
Cried, then laughed - no use for gray.
Touched, and loved, sweet strength of life.
Sometimes promised to stay.
Hoped for many, many things.
Never lost track of dreams.
Remembered thoughts, friends, rhymes.
Given time away.
Seen many a setting sun.
Always prayed for one more day.
(This poem got written in a journal in the mid eighties. Many a thought or poem got its start as I sipped coffee and watched the sun rise over Brooklyn and New York Bay from my apartment window in St. George, Staten Island. A million dollar view and at rent control prices.
This poem I wrote has had many possible titles. The one title that comes strongly to mind when I read it is a memory of Christine. I worked with her. I knew some of the details of her life. I read some of her poetry, not bad. She died tragically young.
I went with a friend and co-worker to her funeral in a store front church in Brooklyn. I had never seen or felt African American culture so close or as relevant as that day with sadness and emotion and gospel singing. . She did not look anything like what I remembered of her there in a casket.
Of all the things about her, this poem seems to have something of her cadence in delivery reminiscent of the shards of her poetry I once read and try to remember.)
