September 2018
I don’t think coherently about anything until I have picked up a Lamy fountain pen and let the ink glide across an unlined page in my Rhodia notepad. My family, poetry, my long-running workshop, and my standard poodle are the passions of my life. My latest book, Gravity: New and Selected Poems is now a reality; I plan to travel with it this year, and hope to meet many V-V poets along the way.
Here's a little back to school poem about the most influential teacher I ever had, I am sorry to say. More at: www.donnahilbert.com
Here's a little back to school poem about the most influential teacher I ever had, I am sorry to say. More at: www.donnahilbert.com
Mr. Eliot
My bald-headed sixth-grade teacher,
Mr. Eliot, put me in the cloakroom
to teach me a lesson.
He said, get used to it,
you’re not the teacher’s pet anymore.
He gave me a bucket
and said, when you fill it with tears
you can come out.
Later, I was Miss Crybaby
when he called on me in class.
He said my penmanship was pitiful
and that it would never improve.
Still, he kept me after school
to copy my assignments
over and over.
This was the year I perfected
my tether-ball game.
I hit, hit, hit the ball
until the rope wound tight around the pole
and my knuckles bled.
from Deep Red. Event Horizon, 1993
© 2018 Donna Hilbert
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