It was a sunny day when I handed her the shears.
“Why do you want me to cut your hair?”
She asked rather knowingly.
The truth was that in my despair I saw the cutting of my hair
as a form of separation from society;
an outward sign to signify an inner disposition.
Too bad that so many other people had a similar haircut,
which rendered my outward “statement” mute.

She let me kiss her once…
It happened near the dumpster at our school.
She had the faint taste of thyroid medicine and suntan oil.

She wore a bandana on her head that caused her to look like Squeaky Fromme; complete with red curls hanging down the back of her neck.
And she moved with a creepy crawl stride
as she walked past the hall lockers to the girls restroom.

Punk rock made her aware…
It was an awareness taught by power chords, social conscious lyrics and despair mixed with hope.
She was all grrl power;
but she let me hang out with her anyway.

She had drunk eyes
even when sober.
She had drunk eyes
even when hung over.
Drug consumption never appeared to interfere with her grade point average.
Although sobriety seemed to strangely tamper with mine.

I watched her struggle to wipe away the pain.
The pain of the virtues she attempted to grasp.
The reality of perceived personal failure, left unexplained;
left to be without understanding even with extensive counseling.
She attempted to make sense of it all
by reading writings of Anne Sexton and Slyvia Plath out loud.

Looking back;
she never talked as her lips moved.
But her words left an impression on me that i will never forget.


One Response to “‘Teacher’”

  1. mike Says:

    Your post made me think of this poem by Robert Frost:

    Provide, Provide

    The witch that came (the withered hag)
    To wash the steps with pail and rag,
    Was once the beauty Abishag,

    The picture pride of Hollywood.
    Too many fall from great and good
    For you to doubt the likelihood.

    Die early and avoid the fate.
    Or if predestined to die late,
    Make up your mind to die in state.

    Make the whole stock exchange your own!
    If need be occupy a throne,
    Where nobody can call you crone.

    Some have relied on what they knew;
    Others on simply being true.
    What worked for them might work for you.

    No memory of having starred
    Atones for later disregard,
    Or keeps the end from being hard.

    Better to go down dignified
    With boughten friendship at your side
    Than none at all. Provide, provide!

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