deepundergroundpoetry.com
1984
my third-grade
third-floor classroom;
it’s twenty past lunch,
I’m late...again;
I still have yet to ask
because my lips are afraid,
I know exactly what
my teacher wants to hear,
even if I don’t yet understand
why I’m so reluctant to say it ~
May I please leave
for my other class,
Ma’am?
she waves me off
without ever looking up;
I run the whole way
room 302,
in an old brick building
thirty-two steps beyond
the sun-baked playground;
I’m past due by over
half an hour, and yet
kind, moss-green eyes
soften, seeing all the way in;
it somehow comforts
the constant sting of being
so constantly awkward;
I don’t know how
she knows,
I just know that
she does
Ms. Munsterman’s shock
of rebellious-cropped
wavy red hair
smelled of sandalwood
and solid self-worth;
the fragrance of freedom ~
a curious composite
of scandalous divorce
and cashmeran
kissing clove cigarettes,
smoked in secret
somewhere
in the teacher’s lounge;
it is the glue
which bound her
to my fondest memories
her gravelly voice
read with smooth confidence,
enunciating each sound
perfectly from between
bronze-orange lips with
unabashed affection
for character inflection ~
it sought and soothed
my hypersensitivity
to the unrelenting
stimuli around me;
I loved her honestly
for this gift
The Lion’s Paw taught me
how to escape this world
alongside two orphans
in a stolen boat,
but it was she who taught me
how to come back and tell
the tale honestly
when the adventure
is over, and also
why it’s so important
to come back at all
third-floor classroom;
it’s twenty past lunch,
I’m late...again;
I still have yet to ask
because my lips are afraid,
I know exactly what
my teacher wants to hear,
even if I don’t yet understand
why I’m so reluctant to say it ~
May I please leave
for my other class,
Ma’am?
she waves me off
without ever looking up;
I run the whole way
room 302,
in an old brick building
thirty-two steps beyond
the sun-baked playground;
I’m past due by over
half an hour, and yet
kind, moss-green eyes
soften, seeing all the way in;
it somehow comforts
the constant sting of being
so constantly awkward;
I don’t know how
she knows,
I just know that
she does
Ms. Munsterman’s shock
of rebellious-cropped
wavy red hair
smelled of sandalwood
and solid self-worth;
the fragrance of freedom ~
a curious composite
of scandalous divorce
and cashmeran
kissing clove cigarettes,
smoked in secret
somewhere
in the teacher’s lounge;
it is the glue
which bound her
to my fondest memories
her gravelly voice
read with smooth confidence,
enunciating each sound
perfectly from between
bronze-orange lips with
unabashed affection
for character inflection ~
it sought and soothed
my hypersensitivity
to the unrelenting
stimuli around me;
I loved her honestly
for this gift
The Lion’s Paw taught me
how to escape this world
alongside two orphans
in a stolen boat,
but it was she who taught me
how to come back and tell
the tale honestly
when the adventure
is over, and also
why it’s so important
to come back at all
Published 11th Apr 2021
Author's Note
My elementary school gifted program teacher was a remarkable woman who loved our group so much she followed us as head of the program all the way to high school. She gave me so many valuable lessons that I’m still opening. Wherever you are Ms. Munsterman, I finally get it.
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likes 4
reading list entries 2
comments 6
reads 153
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Luna you have to know how much I enjoy your words. I literally could read from you all day everyday.. you are an amazing writer on many levels and I am honored to one day say, I knew her when .
Wow what a fascinating description of such fond and awkward memories ..
keep going your killing it!
Hugs
Jackie♥️
Wow what a fascinating description of such fond and awkward memories ..
keep going your killing it!
Hugs
Jackie♥️
12th Apr 2021 1:07am
20th Apr 2021 3:31am
I haven’t thought about the Lions Paw since 5th grade. Need to go order that book now. Thanks for a nostalgic trip, GreyHawk
24th May 2021 4:21am
I recently read it again and I truly hope you enjoy it from this more-traveled perspective as much as I did, Loki. Thank you as always for your kindness.
24th May 2021 4:13am
I love this write. It's so relatable and you told it with such fine vivid detail. Not only that but the lesson learned from obviously a teacher who mentored you. Teachers are really a precious value to our society and the way they shape young minds.
Outstanding work.
Outstanding work.
24th May 2021 4:23am
Thank you so much Wally. I agree that our teachers are a treasure; it’s such a crucially important job.
