All things sweet and Hungarian [#22]

All things sweet and Hungarian

         for Mrs. Davis

Paprikash, the principle's wife. All things sweet and Hungarian. You taught me how to write; with time, could've taught me more: how to give flight to my lyrical voice, how to soar like a poet. Taught us English, not your first language, not likely your second, we dared not misbehave. A trip to your husband's office wasn't an option. You knew somehow that inside each of us there were worlds waiting to be revealed in black inked cursive on white.

You taught until June. I never found out if you left or escaped, these questions forever unasked and unanswered by the young. Among blue collar offspring of immigrants workers, the dialect of factories, lyrics mixed with melodies of Poland and Italy, Ireland and Germany, you brought harmony and peace.

Taught us to speak, to share it on paper. Like paprikash: Hungarian, peppery and sweet.

© Kåre Enga [168.226] #22 November 15, 2011.

Note to self, earlier versions:

Paprikash, the principle's wife. All things sweet and Hungarian. You taught me how to write; with time, could've taught me more. How to give flight to my lyrical voice, how to soar like a poet.

Teaching us English, not your first language, not likely your second, we dared not mis-behave. A trip to the office wasn't an option. You knew somehow that inside us there were worlds to be revealed in cursive or typed, black ink on white.

I never found out if you left or escaped, these questions forever unasked and unanswered. Among blue collar offspring of immigrants workers, dialect of factories, lyrics mixed with melodies of Poland and Italy, Ireland and Germany, you brought harmony and peace.

Taught us to speak, to share it on paper. Like paprikash: Hungarian, peppery and sweet.