Hobble Creek Review
| Marge Saiser |
First Bell
for William Kloefkorn, State Poet
This morning a child walks in the neighborhood,
the toes of her sandals touching,
her heels not touching
the sidewalk. Look how she takes herself along to school,
going today for some reason on her tiptoes,
her backpack held in front of her. She's trying to fix something
about it,
walking and zipping or unzipping her pack,
her hair following along in a ponytail or a braid or a cloud behind her
or him,
a girl or a boy,
thin-boned or thick-boned,
light on the feet,
or heavy,
on the sidewalk past the houses
or wheeling his wheelchair
or her wheelchair
into the school.
Student skipping on the sidewalk
or the county road,
student in the car pool
or on the noisy bus, feeling alone,
you may not know Bill Kloefkorn.
You may not know Alvin Turner as Farmer
or Ludi Jr or Sergeant Patrick Gass, Chief Carpenter
or Uncertain the Final Run to Winter
or Loup River Psalter
or At Home on This Moveable Earth
You may not know Bill Kloefkorn, State Poet,
but you know your teacher
Ms X, Mr Y
You know your teacher waits for you
values your name and your experience and your race and your need
Ms X, Mr Y glad to see your bright face
your
pale
dark
rosy
pink
mocha
cinnamon
almond
mahogany
ebony
sienna
henna
walnut
wheat
ocher
face
your
shy
confident
extroverted
introverted
serene
troubled
defiant
trusting
mind.
Your teacher scoops you up into the lap of great stories and poems,
trusts you
to know what you are ready to know.
Bill Kloefkorn has respected your Ms X, Mr Y
has seen him
has seen her
as worthy,
as equal learner
He has taught us to see you
worthy
you in your flippy thongs
you in your rebellious hair
you in your must-conform clothes.
Come in. Ask your questions.
Raise your angry hand
your abused hand
your privileged hand
your scared hand
your lonely hand
your mocking disrespectful interrupting hand
your shy quiet demanding hand
your bored can't-be-moved irreverent hand
your multiple sclerosis hand
your eager hand
your young, very young, hungry hand
your hyphenated-American wonderfully American hand.
Come into school, equal learner, hang up your pack.
Stay a while
here
in this place we continue to make ready.
We are working as Bill taught us:
the door is open wide as a pair of arms.
for William Kloefkorn, State Poet
This morning a child walks in the neighborhood,
the toes of her sandals touching,
her heels not touching
the sidewalk. Look how she takes herself along to school,
going today for some reason on her tiptoes,
her backpack held in front of her. She's trying to fix something
about it,
walking and zipping or unzipping her pack,
her hair following along in a ponytail or a braid or a cloud behind her
or him,
a girl or a boy,
thin-boned or thick-boned,
light on the feet,
or heavy,
on the sidewalk past the houses
or wheeling his wheelchair
or her wheelchair
into the school.
Student skipping on the sidewalk
or the county road,
student in the car pool
or on the noisy bus, feeling alone,
you may not know Bill Kloefkorn.
You may not know Alvin Turner as Farmer
or Ludi Jr or Sergeant Patrick Gass, Chief Carpenter
or Uncertain the Final Run to Winter
or Loup River Psalter
or At Home on This Moveable Earth
You may not know Bill Kloefkorn, State Poet,
but you know your teacher
Ms X, Mr Y
You know your teacher waits for you
values your name and your experience and your race and your need
Ms X, Mr Y glad to see your bright face
your
pale
dark
rosy
pink
mocha
cinnamon
almond
mahogany
ebony
sienna
henna
walnut
wheat
ocher
face
your
shy
confident
extroverted
introverted
serene
troubled
defiant
trusting
mind.
Your teacher scoops you up into the lap of great stories and poems,
trusts you
to know what you are ready to know.
Bill Kloefkorn has respected your Ms X, Mr Y
has seen him
has seen her
as worthy,
as equal learner
He has taught us to see you
worthy
you in your flippy thongs
you in your rebellious hair
you in your must-conform clothes.
Come in. Ask your questions.
Raise your angry hand
your abused hand
your privileged hand
your scared hand
your lonely hand
your mocking disrespectful interrupting hand
your shy quiet demanding hand
your bored can't-be-moved irreverent hand
your multiple sclerosis hand
your eager hand
your young, very young, hungry hand
your hyphenated-American wonderfully American hand.
Come into school, equal learner, hang up your pack.
Stay a while
here
in this place we continue to make ready.
We are working as Bill taught us:
the door is open wide as a pair of arms.
Marjorie Saiser's most recent books are Rooms
(Puddinghouse Publications, 2010) and Beside You at the
Stoplight (The Backwaters Press, 2010), winner of the
Little Blue Stem Award. Her work can be found in the
archives of The Writer's Almanac.
(Puddinghouse Publications, 2010) and Beside You at the
Stoplight (The Backwaters Press, 2010), winner of the
Little Blue Stem Award. Her work can be found in the
archives of The Writer's Almanac.
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