CALL ME BELOVED

happy happy life! was scrawled at the bottom,
a genuine wish written in her familiar unruly cursive
to close the remarks on my final poetry portfolio.
I deified this professor for the three years it took
to finally sit in her workshop, fifteen twenty-somethings
wielding pens and the best intentions.

of all the sincerelys and thank yous I’ve read over the years
I’ve never had a valediction that clung to me so desperately,
and it struck me all over again while I scanned my poems
late last night, holding the cheap plastic report cover like a bible,
revisiting her corrections and suggestions and unintelligble
little random squiggles under words. I remember that May,
running up the hill in front of Donnaruma Hall to retrieve
our portfolios from the drop box on her office door.

it was graduation day. our robes hung over our arms
and the dew clung to our dress shoes, polish rubbing off
onto the grass as we ran, and when we had the folders
back in our hands we traded, read and read again.
our professor wished me a happy happy life! and I felt it
in my bones, warmer than the sun reflected off
the campus center – yes, I thought, yes it is –
I offered my thanks to the springtime air,
gratitude for her final gift to me, and for the words
to explain what I wished for everyone.

I feel as if I should tell her now – succumb to my impulse
to write people letters to explain just how I feel, to tell her
yes I’m happy, yes – but I wait, because I should –
wait for the further blessings that could come, wait
for the simple subtle happiness and hope I hold in my heart.