On the last day of classes, she and Lisa
Came up to the desk. For our most patient
Teacher, they began. Patient? I,
Who at home rages at my children’s litter?
“Wait,” said Lisa. Eleanor has made you
Something to suggest patience: a single stalk
Of ripened wheat finely drawn in ink
On gray rice paper matted and bordered.
Yesterday I snapped my fingers and laughed
At Eleanor’s faraway blank stare during review.
Often she came in late from art class.
I recall her running up the stairs
In painty smock, her champagne hair tied back.
One day she wore a blue-green-yellow
Batik dress dyed, patterned, cut,
Fitted and sewn by her own hand.
At the spring arts festival my child and I
Watch a boy with smiling eyes insert
Her flow-dyed filter papers in her lighted
Viewing box. The soft colors glowed.
Her last theme told of a girl who ran
Out of the house to watch a spring sunrise
And found in the meadow a second sun, a daffodil.
This lily of the field will light up my memories.
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