Author’s Note: I had a lot of fun writing this poem, playing with the idea of time as not just an abstract backdrop to our changing lives, but an actual teacher in whose classroom we learn and grow, and from whose care we eventually depart. As I wrote, she really came to life for me: a little flakey, a lot of fun, weirdly sentimental (she truly misses those trilobites!) and possessing a highly eccentric sense of humor (boy does she find Shakespeare’s sonnets hilarious, but why? only she knows).
Time The Teacher
was often late for class, would arrive
with her keys, her plums, her unwritten
poems, makeup spilling from
her hobo bag of exasperations;
rarely took attendance except
with sometimes sudden and alarming
urgency (a panicked mother
shouting runaway names
in the grocery parking lot);
always seemed to call on you
when you weren’t paying attention;
snorted at every request for extra credit.
Wore her graying hair up in a girlish
ponytail, and her bifocals on a chain
around her neck. Graded our papers
in disappearing ink; often digressed;
thought little of the Bible, or Americans,
(except for Dickinson); seemed to enjoy
scandalizing us with casual details from
old exploits: Byron, Picasso, Kahlo,
and others too numerous to mention, though
mention them she did (gasps when
she winked yes for Bieber); dropped
the c-word like she was dropping
all pretense. Said wisdom wasn’t
worth much more than sheer pluck;
kept a pickle jar of sand on her desk
and asked us to guess how many
grains it held; always knew
when it was your birthday and
brought cupcakes. Sobbed dis-
concertingly during presentations
on dinosaurs and trilobites, and the
Cambrian explosion. But laughed
through our recitals of Shakespeare’s
sonnets: “oh my god, stop it, you’re
killing me!” she’d groan at That Time
of Year Thou Mayst in Me Behold,
pounding her fist on the desk, holding
her sides, the clock on the wall not
budging an inch till she was done.
♦
Julian Koslow is a former professor of Renaissance literature at Virginia Tech but left academia to take care of a child with special needs. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Sugar House Review, The Columbia Review, SRPR, Cumberland River Review, New Ohio Review, and Atlanta Review. He lives with his wife and two sons in Fair Lawn, New Jersey.
The Delmarva Review, a literary journal, reaches audiences regionally, nationally, and beyond, to give writers a desirable home in print (with an electronic edition) to present their most compelling new prose and poetry. This is a time when many commercial publications have closed their doors or are reducing literary content. For each annual edition, editors have culled through thousands of submissions to select the best of new poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. There is never a publishing or reading fee to the writers. The review is available from online booksellers and regional specialty bookstores. As a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, support comes from tax-deductible contributions and a grant from Talbot Arts with funds from the Maryland State Arts Council. Website: www.DelmarvaReview.org
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