The Professor Remembers A Gifted Student.rtf_0

The Professor Mourns a Teacher's Pet im Suzzee Q You were a girl who knew that soul Is just a metaphor for how you dance, And you did love to dance, with music Or with the soundtrack in your head, You were too young to be so wise, Too wise to be so young, too good To leave your own sweet revolution So incomplete, the world unfinished In its ambition to be yours. I couldn't teach you very much, But you indulged my fantasy That I might be the one you learned from. You were so pleased to learn your name Was in my list of synonyms For pussy, and you purred approval When I would scratch between your ears. Like fire and honey mixed with gravel, Impossibles combined, your voice Greeted the world and called it out— You were the kind of bird whose song Is hard to take but good to hear. You were the kind of righteous bitch Whose ovaries are made of steel, Whose eyes could stare down any injustice. You were the plucky heroine Of the postmodern post-romance, The feministe fatale whom bright young boys Would throw themselves at the feet of. You were the kind of poet whose words Take fire rising from the page. All we can do is huff the smoke And hope it gets us high enough That we forget, for just a moment, How you have gone and won't be back.