Her name holds
admiration.
For the dead authors
and their work she
brought to life in her lessons.

Her name holds
inspiration.
I wanted to be just like her.
Only later did I see
that I could never become
the person that made her a great teacher.

Her name holds
all the dreams I had of her
after she had left
to feel alive again.

Her name holds
her credo
‘Make a collection of poems
that you would take
when you are moving.
Make a collection of poems
and tell a story of why
you chose them.’
I read all the poetry I could
by poets in the Romantic
and gave her goosebumps with my story.
That story I wrote for her
hoping she would see me.
She would never give me what
I wanted from her.