Mrs. Cox


Taught us how to subtract
in story form showing how John
had to borrow from Mary, and
Mary had to borrow from Tom.
In between each subject, she’d stop
and tell us a story, sometimes
from the newspapers
and sometimes fiction.
It was in her class that I first heard
about Lizzie Borden
chopping up her parents.
 
Mrs. Cox’s sausage fingers
displayed beautiful penmanship
on the blackboard.
She often looked messy,
with wispy gray hairs
slipping out from her bun.
She always showed concern
for all of her students.
When my mom wrote a note
that I had a hard time breathing
because of allergies,
Mrs. Cox cut out an ad
of a hospital bed on sale
thinking it would help me sleep.
 
After high school,
I ran into her at the bus stop.
She remembered my name
and started to tell me a story
about one of her students
who had just gotten married.
Before she could finish,
the bus pulled up,
and I was left standing there
wanting to hear the ending
just like I did in third grade.