a poem by Stan Raines

Here, for you, my lesson,
A turning of words
As light recedes:
The green has left this leaf
And leaves a fibrous web …

Here, do not guess at
That you would know:
Bend and see that
Which crawls at you
As if fleeing to the room,
Which races to you
As all would do
if they had eyes
as you do.

But the lesson:
Take place and make stand;
Move walls,
Build furniture,
That you may live
In this place-
Which you are.

Life is light;
Light is life;
All is taut:
And now the green has broken from this leaf,
The web is left that has trapped
The light of life.
And your silence weighs like speech.

I wrote this piece during my first experience teaching as a graduate assistant at Ball State University. And, yes, as my other brother inquired once, the student in question was a babe. But more importantly, she became known as a human being rather than a figure sitting in a chair in a starkly bare room. That was the first experience I had with that phenomenon as a teacher, but, fortunately, not the last. As a matter of fact, it became an expectation for me that my students would emerge as humans and join in the conversation which it was my privilege to be conducting. It didn’t always happen and I had “challenging students” through of my career. But always there is the possibility of talk and communication, isn’t there?