Every once in a while, when I learn a life lesson, I remember Mrs. Johnson. She was my microbiology teacher in college. She was my friend. I loved going to her class. We would always be excited at exchanging our poetry. She would read hers to me and I would share mine. I remember one day walking late into class, I hadn’t had time to remove my sunglasses. She said as I walked to my seat, “here she comes, incognito.”
I aced her class and was asked by her to tutor her summer class, but I, who loves travelling, opted to vacation instead of teach. My anatomy teacher had also asked me to tutor her summer class, but summertime is for vacationing.
One of my favorite poems of Mrs. Johnson is about learning and evolving in life, and that once we learn a lesson, we’re rarely ever confronted with the same situation because we’ve learned the lesson. And there’s a nostalgic tone to it, that we suffer so much to learn a lesson but end up never really needing to apply that lesson again.
She wrote the poem for her step-child who was always moving between her mother’s and father’s home. Here I share the poem.
Again
broken strings and shoelaces, packed again
the bear’s house is left behind, again
patched decisions seamed with frantic fantasies
new-old-new faces
teachers without substance
a piece here, a piece there
childhood fragmented and scattered in too brief a time
promises tied to places, obsessions, reversals
why must we run from the ghosts
shift, shift, shift
move down, move down, new cup, new cup, new cup
to be discontinued………..
run, run, run,
it will be better, won’t it
unpack but don’t unfold your dreams, again
talents untested, arrested, packed again
unframed sequences briefly reviewed and packed, again
unsent letters, unspent emotions, unsolved problems
feelings out of sequence, abrupted, interrupted, again
tucked in, put away, again
you’ll be too old to use them next time they are opened
don’t learn to adjust
just learn to leave again
rehearse for a rapidly approaching adulthood
a lifetime of lessons well-learned.
