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Requiem for a teacher.

She commanded the old weather-beaten school house beside the rock which the Native Americans had set, A signal during ancient centuries. She had seen fifty years of sunshines and I had seen only four. I was a tiny replica of my mother Groomed for upward mobility in a Southern gentility. She was a silent revolutionary armed with the arsenal to search and destroy subseivience. I needed her date for destiny And she my budding proclivity. She sensed in me rewards for labor and I in her a "beacon light." We nurtured each other: I caressed her will for prominence: She directed me to a path of knowledge; The gates of the world opened to me:

I danced with elves and dined with poets;

I greeted scientists and met musicians on the

Native American Rock

Mrs. Turner now rests in her grave and I on the laurels of her teachings. "Be the best," she said to me," and the world will be your playground." I remember what she meant on the Native American Rock.
COPYRIGHT 1993 African American Review
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Copyright 1993, Gale Group. All rights reserved. Gale Group is a Thomson Corporation Company.

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Title Annotation:Section 3: Sayings, Sermons, Tall Tales, and Lies - Contemporary Black Poetry; poem
Author:Jeffers, Trellie L.
Publication:African American Review
Date:Mar 22, 1993
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