I was editing a manuscript and found this fantastic entry.
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art: any form of expression.



Passing the Peace

Before students elbowed through
halls, her volkswagen escaped
the faculty parking lot.
She tapped Make Love Not War signs
on fenders after filling
up for Vietnam protests.
Mondays found her exhausted

but still intensely focused.
Anti-war pamphlets replaced
state literature guidelines.
Reminded that the district
included military
families, she spread index
and middle finger upright

and continued. How do I
know? As an advanced degree
mentor, I observed classroom
techniques of first year teachers;
critiqued management methods.
She missed planning times so I
wrote notes: Return test papers

ASAP. I poured words
out during lunch. Challenged to
remember that a 7th
graders emotions floated
thin skin surfaces, she laughed
I know. Kent State erupted.
University gales closed.

Riots stopped ceremonies.
Degrees arrived in mail tubes.
No longer mentor, kid's sports
and cleaning helped me through days.
Two weeks; then a local news-
paper tilted fragile worlds.
Handsome as a Watusi

warrior, reserved for thirteen,
a boy asked for graded tests.
She responded, Not ready!
He (words from the article)
told her if she finished work,
he'd have a grade average.
(again from newspaper...)

...The teacher slapped him across
the face. He returned the serve.
Across the hall a male
teacher opened his door, saw
perceived attack and with clenched
fists knocked down an A student.
(I read this. I wasn’t there)

Contacted in Vietnam
John’s dad agreed with offer.
an apology from both
teachers would end a sticky
situation. The next dsy
she called, wanted to see me.
I finally said, Of course

Her green wagon bounced along
our driveway. Inside, I asked
her to sit. She started with,
They all want me to resign.
I nodded, Don’t refuse. If
They fire you, no system will
ever offer a contract!

I didn’t tell her our three
Kids fielded verbal hits, some
more painful than body blows;
that we avoided TV
in fear of what we might see.
We both knew my husband fought
for everything she opposed.

Pale braids trembled, she drank tea;
At last seemed ready to leave.
Twenty three, green as her bug,
smiling through fingers, waiting
for me to return the sign,
did she know the word never?
instead mouthed, Go in peace...