hour after hour, day after day, year after year
the cadence of her words
rose and fell in my classroom
in Jean Louise’s coveralls
walking in someone else’s skin I meandered through Maycomb’s streets
treasuring two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of
good-luck pennies
I led my students
into that courtroom
and stood in respect
and I wept
every single time hour after hour, day after day, year after year
the cadence of her words
rose and fell in my classroom
“What would Atticus do?”
wove into my discussions became a refrain
became ingrained into who I am as a daughter, as a wife, as a
mother
defined my humanity—
my Gestalt
I am a part of all I have met
and so I wept
every single time hour after hour, day after day, year after year
the cadence of her words rose and fell in my life
until I became the writer
with a draft of a novel in my desk and another tucked upon a closet shelf
the lives I created guided by conscience
renderings of myself in stark black and white
so I understand a watchman
and crossing time to set things right
and I wept
once again Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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