99poems/renfrow

I’d like to thank
Miss Renfrow
for teaching me
how to reach.
And letting me
stay in at recess,
to practice my new skill
without ever making
me feel weird.
For not hearing
the day I blew into
the candy box,
I didn’t believe
would whistle,
and treating me
like a hero when
I let the little
girl who fell into
the mud wear
my coat.
(Did she do that
to draw me in?)
For that book she
gave me on
the last day
of school, so
rare a kind deed
from an adult
I weep still
to think of it.
But most of
all I’d like
to thank her
for teaching
me how to read.

I think she was
an old maid,
as teachers
used to be.
by then.
who sacrificed their life
and pleasure for the future
of books?

We were her
last year,
& the last in
the old white wood
building that gave way to new brick.

A creeky room
with a greased wood
floor on a slant,
so that when Billy
wet his pants
that day, it ran
back toward the
door.

A terrifying event
in its possibility.
I can’t recall
what she did.
I want to think
she was kind,
but I’m not
sure.
Maybe she was
only good to
the ones like me
who wanted to
read.