Ghosts in the Classroom
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.
