THE child's wonder
At the old moon
Comes back nightly.
She points her finger
To the far silent yellow thing
Shining through the branches
Filtering on the leaves a golden sand,
Crying with her little tongue, "See the moon!"
And in her bed fading to sleep
With babblings of the moon on her little mouth
-Carl Sandburg, Chicago Poems
I preface this Ode to Spinning Girl with Carl Sandburg. He is one of my favorite poets, because he eagerly brought nature and the city together in his work. His lyric schemes are landscapes of sounds and verbs. Perhaps not a teacher in the traditional sense, Carl Sandburg and Spinning Girl are two cut from the same cloth.
And Now....(drumroll)...the Ode to Spinning Girl.
Canto I.
There is a classroom in town in Connecticut
Where a very tall woman presides.
Her hair is like that of a moth's wing
and her nose is aligned with pride.
She talks about history or math
Or perhaps, physics and atoms.
No matter the subject she's teaching,
it's more than the students can fathom.
She's brilliant and oh-so-pretty
With eyes clear and bright with intellect.
She tells stories about lions and children
And nary a student she rejects.
Canto II.
Spinning Girl is the moniker she uses
When she dabbles with internet pleasure.
Her words are like little rubies
and her blogs are unexpected nectar.
She has readers, far and wide.
Her passion is unrelenting.
The talent she has in her little finger
Daunts my own, like a thimble.
At times, she may seem contrary
But this mood is never lasting.
Back she'll come with a comment
always funny, always witty.
Canto III.
I myself live in Georgia
With a boyfriend and a cat.
I have lots of issues
keeping thoughts intact.
But Spinning Girl is Athena
A goddess wise and fair
And when I read her blogs
I'm refreshed of my own flair.
She does this crazy stuff
with Adobe Photoshop
And lots of times I'm duped
by pictures that she's cropped.
Canto IV.
(Muse in fairy garb swings across imaginary set in my mind, changing entire mood of 'Ode to S.G.')
If there is a soul out there that nears Spinning Girl,
may that soul be bright and cheery; may that soul be
rested and unweary. May that soul
be kind enough to listen to Spinning Girl's words
and learn the immortal lessons she teaches. May that soul
be good enough to keep her safe at night.
When all the lights have burnt out, or a power surge erupts
and you and I and BOBI can no longer read her stuff,
let us pray that Spinning Girl and her ephemeral life
go on and on like Fate's three threads:
epigrammatic, ambiguous, enchanting.
Let us all remember Spinning Girl, and sing of her to children.
If every teacher taught like her,
all minds would be like fertile fields of Narnia or elysian Lands,
or the soft light stuff that makes up heaven.
Canto V.
(A little child sings):
Thank you, God, for your bright star.
Spinning Girl, Spinning Girl, wherever you are.
Teach me now, teach me at morn
Weave me a tale
To last through all time.
(Curtain down)
(Applause).
