Great men are meteors
that burn so that the earth
may be lighted
Napoleon Bonaparte
that burn so that the earth
may be lighted
Napoleon Bonaparte
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Class began once again.
History, herstory all stories
interested him. I’d been weaned
on stories. Tales told by grandmother
sitting by open fires; recounting tales
of what use to be. Of a country that had
once been great.
Fog clouded the mirror, obscuring the
perfect view of history lingering in
in my face. I’m the story of two
souls long forgotten- long removed.
Eighteen years didn’t remove
ghost emotions, nor pictures from frames.
I didn’t have time for memories.
Work called; and I always answered
The Call
Living a few blocks from campus
allowed me freedom, an option
to walk.
The Call
Living a few blocks from campus
allowed me freedom, an option
to walk.
Shoe had been shined at the witching
hour. Slacks warmed under iron until
bacteria was burned away; leaving creases
behind. Pastel yellow long sleeves covered
arms spent under 100 pound weights with
the frequency of daily dates. Muted brown
vest with matching beret screwed on
finishing touches to the fall look.
New semester equaled excitement
before frustration. New names, faces
grades and pains.
before frustration. New names, faces
grades and pains.
Measured steps got my feet
to the campus. Luckily morning meetings
laid themselves to bed weeks ago.
I enjoyed the excitement; but loved
the silence offered in the
door labelled Professor G.
Gomez..that’s me.
Thirty eight years of
degrees.
No family; no good life.
so abuela would say.
I’d disagree.
She’s a woman eighty three.
For her family is life.
I’ve found life outside
of the trappings of commitment.
Which is what she wanted of me.
so abuela would say.
I’d disagree.
She’s a woman eighty three.
For her family is life.
I’ve found life outside
of the trappings of commitment.
Which is what she wanted of me.
I have too many cousins willing
to give her what she needs.
I’ll hold off with quick grins,
and quicker feet.
One Day Maybe Someone Will C A T C H me........but until then!
There I go again!
There I go again!
Pushing doors open always let me in
but what did it help me keep out?
Old faces rush to the forefront
after months away.
Smiles linger; true and fake.
University is a game
everyone plays.
Some like the fiddle
some with sticks.
But, we all play.
Sometimes when the mood is right
we even sing along.
Door locked, but keys manage to
seduce metal into putty. In I go to
my
home away from home.
“Hello”
I say to another year.
I say to another year.
“It’s you and me again dear.”
Leaving behind what I must.
I collect syllabus with hands
familiar with the weight. First
days were best. Short, sweet-
no questions to be had no disappointments
to face.
Crocdile tears belonged home
with fears and parents.
Adults were to be found sitting in chairs.
Knowledge was meant to be shared in the
four walls of the class room I walked into.
Dropping stapled papers
onto the desk of doom, I surveyed
the crowd. Blooming, growing
more and more coming in.
I didn’t bother with a seat.
Leaning against the frame of the desk
one leg crossed comfortably over the other.
This could be worth it.
Or, maybe not.
Watching my watch; I go to close the door.
I hated noise trickling, leaking as much
as any plumber.
The click was sweet.
“ Good Morning.
This is History 1005.
I am Professor Dorian Gomez.
You may call me Professor G. “
This is History 1005.
I am Professor Dorian Gomez.
You may call me Professor G. “
Ha. They weren’t expecting the accent.
Saints bless Cuba and all hers.
My tongue rolled. I made no apologies.
I accepted myself.
Lesson of life well learned.
“ I will keep this brief.
Attendance, pick up your packages,
which I’ll place on a desk in the front
row. Next class I expect you won’t all
huddle to the back like timid children.
There are seats in the front for a reason.
Use them.”
Attendance, pick up your packages,
which I’ll place on a desk in the front
row. Next class I expect you won’t all
huddle to the back like timid children.
There are seats in the front for a reason.
Use them.”
Laughter tickled my spleen.
They didn’t know what to make
of me. Join the club! No one
knew what to make of Professor G.
I loved being me.
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