Another Teacher
Rain steady on the roof. Far shore lost.
Sea – quiet, gray, introspective – like me,
I think, entering from stage left.
This is what we’ve made language for,
to enter the world’s drama as player,
not just reflex towards food,
away from the saber-tooth.
On the table beyond my book,
an off-white bowl holds three oranges
and an Asian pear. Eye takes them up.
Mind calls for a palate of words.
Suddenly the undertones of blue
on the skin of the pear and the green shadows
beneath the mandarins reveal themselves.
Praise Language for showing eyes
what they have seen.
by Nils Peterson
10/26
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