Easter Sunday ca. 1956 Gardena, CA
When my grandkids talk to Oprah
about their Nana, the famous writer,
they will say words were my oxygen–
to read, write and share
and that I spent way too much money
at Thrift Stores on books by dead authors–
Emily Dickinson, George Herbert, LM Montgomery
and Keats.
They will also tell her I loved to sing–
another form of breathing–
and how I embarrassed them in public
by belting out the “Tomorrow” song from Annie
or grabbing their elbows in the mall
while shouting “We’re off to see the Wizard!”
They will announce to the world,
in front of God and everybody,
that my profession as a teacher was their
greatest undoing; constantly coaching
about penmanship, the correct formation
of the letter “a”, pointing out misread
syllables in a favorite text.
They will oblige Ms. O’s prodding by adding the death
knell~
that I couldn’t help myself when it came to learning,
revealing in hushed tones that I often resorted
to using an encyclopedia as torture
(the 1956 World Book edition).
My grandchildren will remind her, however,
(before the commercial break)
my best qualities were the way I delighted in the world,
showing them wonders in the garden,
surprises in the grass, the avian miracles of
chickadees and juncos in the branches,
robins in the birdbath.
Most of all, when my grandkids talk to Oprah,
they will tell her my lungs longed for the breath of
Heaven, the Word, and how its oxygen proved
my greatest life support throughout my livelong days.
***
This poem is from my book “Hearts on Pilgrimage-Poems & Prayers”