She, a love poem.
She is teaching. She is the best of me, and all of me. She is the light in a student's eyes as she gets it, and can use it. She is my first love. She is the process of paper and revision. She is ideas, and refinement, and someone els's sweat and tears for a grade and She is who I need to serve. She is all that has ever mattered to me. She is opportunity. She is chance. She is the knowledge of the ages. She is what happened and what was burned at Alexandria. She is a lonely library, or lab, or classroom after hours, or one blessed soul In front of one computer one night of realization. She is the one who understands. She is change. She is progress. She holds me at night and tells me that this meager life has purpose. She, who was take from me, stolen through my hubris and my failure. She who has given me one more chance. She is teaching. She is the best I will ever do, and the only reason I draw breath. I give myself to her service, and her mission. I worship her as others may do another chosen God. She is my world. I may have no other, and she has let me build again in her grace. She has not seen me unworthy. I am humbly blessed, for my teaching is still with me.