Not the faux wind-up

of adverbs and gerunds

nor the screech of chalk

and the dizziness of dust,

but a teacher who offers

the seismic truth in paradox,

the tingling wrapped up

in the round box of ambiguity,

the spell of allusion placed before us,

like the anticipation of Thanksgiving,

like an actor in a spotlight.

She alters the present

of what we think we know,

showing us how irony

bends and breaks a line or script.

A simple gift, like a necklace

or carving. Something to expand

the sclera in our eyes,

to follow the words after each dash—

to share, always, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

and Great Expectations with others,

like light that exceeds the breadth

of a chalkboard, like drops that lift away

film from our sight.

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