Some believed, knew you
in their own heart
without reason cared
for you when you were
seven going on eight.

Always, in your memory, they
knew, felt kindness, saw
your need, kept your face
before theirs.

How could they remember
that small face – my name, me
being in the world when
their world was full
without me, my squinty eyes
chewed fingernails, anxious being
even before grade three?
How did she know I needed
her smile, her recognition of me
when there were so many others?

How she did it I do not know
she did not say it in words.
But if I raised my hand
among the others, if she did not
call my name, I saw her face
see mine, her smile lingering fleet,
calling another but I knew
she saw me and I knew
I was there.

---

Portland, Oregon – August 7, 2016

Dedicated to wonderful teachers, especially to my second grade teacher, of happy memory, Mrs. Samuelson (1960).  Twenty-five years later, after having been gone from my home town for many years, I came back to share an important moment in my life.  She was there, in the front row, all white hair, in her eighties.  I was so grateful for her being there but I had to ask, “Do you remember me, from 2nd grade?” “Of course I remember you.” And I had absolutely no doubt that she did.