Ghosts in the Classroom

March 27, 2017

Like a ghost

I drift onto many campuses

seemingly at once,

yet hidden, almost

unseen except when chain-locked doors

open on minds leaden with

lackaday as I open

my book, my spirit.

 

They see me

(and many others like me)

 

because we are

apparent in our transparency,

windows seeking landscapes to face,

so that students, soon-to-be sages,

may peer out in wonder, amazement,

take with them home

something other than homework.

 

To them, those

whose minds mold new matter

with wrought iron wisdom,

I hope I am no mere window, but a

frame (no ghost, but a man) that they might

recall the pictures I’ve framed, the unmoving,

shapes I gave to the myriad questions

cosmosed in their minds.

 

And in turn,

those sages, once students, grant a shape to

yet another shade

drifting onto all those campuses

seemingly at once

yet hidden.

 

Almost.

Every Monday, GJC will be sharing a poem from John T. Trigonis, a local JC Heights resident, poet, writer, and coffee aficionado, in our Monday Musings.

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