Gift Poem by Frank Avon

Gift



His greatest gift
isn't his to give
but he did

in his own tongue
in his own time
almost in ours

was it Hamlet?
Oedipus?
Ghosts?
A Streetcar Named Desire?

His room is a-clutter
his floor
his desk
his mind

for giftedness
doesn't grow
where there's no
cluttering

and giftedness
even his
adheres
in the giving

what is
or isn't
his
and now is theirs/ours/yours

Monday, December 22, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: teacher
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