MISS WEGLE

She was German granite

Chiseled into a five foot cylinder,

Thick fingers that grasped

You in a handshake

Full of strength and lift.

In her sixth grade classroom

The morning schedule was

As dependable as sunrise.

Only a Russian atomic attack

Could postpone morning reading at 9.

In her mind reading was fundamental

Years before others called it so.

I struggled with it, but

My strength was arithmetic at 10.

For world geography at 11, each country

Had its own page in our notebooks.

She liked a tiny drawing I did for Brazil

And wrote “Good” in red on my page.

I was elated.

We memorized poetry,

Longfellow’s “Ride of Paul Revere”

And Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address.”

Somehow she made it all achievable.

She understood how much

Simple rewards, words or gold stars,

Could mean to a nascent pupil.

I was eleven, less than a larva.  

I surrendered to her and

Thrived in her care.

There was comfort in her ways

And her dependable routine

With its impregnable order.

I knew exactly what I’d be doing at 10 a.m.

It was 6^th grade.  I was her child for the year.

She was my gold star teacher
Teaching me to fly. 


SEA GLASS PEOPLE - Portraits in Words and Watercolors   (available on Amazon.com)