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More poems by William StaffordWilliam Stafford | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by William StaffordBooks by William Stafford

Lit Instructor

William Stafford

Day after day up there beating my wings
with all the softness truth requires
I feel them shrug whenever I pause:
they class my voice among tentative things,

And they credit fact, force, battering.
I dance my way toward the family of knowing,
embracing stray error as a long-lost boy
and bringing him home with my fluttering.

Every quick feather asserts a just claim;
it bites like a saw into white pine.
I communicate right; but explain to the dean--
well, Right has a long and intricate name.

And the saying of it is a lonely thing.

Added: 3 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 23 Jan 2018 10:42 PM | Viewed: 4989 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1083/ | Viewed on 23 January 2018.
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