When you are in her presence

You feel you’re standing before several women

She is a mother

She is a daughter

She is a sister

She is a friend

Even her students have a crush on her

Other lecturers have each adopted a different approach to meeting her

She looks like a tart yet she is decently dressed

She speaks like a college don while using everyday metaphors

She clearly wants to be understood

Even by her flowers in their little garden

Each time she speaks to them

She strokes their petals like children

She never picks them

And when they die she speaks over them and pats them

The she turns and cries

And takes off all her clothes to lie on the earth with them

Calling their names as even their scent evaporates

And they crumble back gently in to the earth

She puts on rock music

And rocks the sadness like a baby till it falls asleep

And lets her sleep

In the morning she completes her toilet

And dashes off to catch the bus to the University

Where a hundred students eagerly anticipate her