Who are my teachers
now I have left the schoolrooms
of my youth, now that I am old?
Poet Mary Oliver with wisdoms –
her arms open to ponds, flowers,
creatures lovely and not, her words
lights to what I must learn – words rich
with how to spend my life. Friends
are encyclopedias, not of fact
and image, but engraved with gifts
of love, companionship, comfort.
Books are my teachers, some to coax
to play or to ponder deeply, others
to publish truths of human nature,
truths I missed among my busy days.
Humble soap bubbles whispering,
“Pay attention, for we – and you –
will not last.” What better teacher
than a sunset, a rosebud, a hawk
descending suddenly on a tiny sparrow,
teaching life’s brevity, uncertainty of length.
Not with words from a lectern, my lessons
are constructed, but from what my eyes,
my mind chooses, rapt with my world.
“I began writing at fifty – what I call the gift of the second half of my life. It satisfies some deeply felt needs – not only to express myself, but to understand more about the world, to delve into what I actually know that I didn’t know I knew. As a member of the Writers’ Group at Delaware Run, I find support and friendship. My other passions include reading ( I spent 40 years as a professional librarian) and enjoying time with my family. I have two fine sons and daughters-in-law and two marvelous grandchildren.”
