Chalkboard, My Love, Our Mother

for my future students

No longer dreaming about
the next mornings’ courting in class,
I receive friendly advice from morning things:
my alarm clock, my comb,
the shower head, my lightly browned toast,
they all cheer me on as I put on my hat and coat,
walking out the door into an autumn morning,
they tell me the red collar biting the neck
of my knit sweater is perfect.
The sun is rising as I come to my love’s door.

Clinging tightly to my chalk rose,
I present to her my love, with my best intentions,
and kissing her softly her face brightens and fills,
and when my students, her children, walk in,
she will blush, smiling brilliantly with cheer,
she will share the love I gave to her:

like a wonderful mother
passing out hot apple pie,
in the winter cold,
the boys and girls will all be given
slices of Keats, Shelley, Byron,
With a hefty dollop of Wordsworth on the side.