Poem for Mrs Harris

“Aladdin,” they cooed as I looked at the floor, A moon-face of dismay, emotions hard to ignore. Mum smiled, squeezed my hand, we walked to the door I glanced back, they said, “We’ve never had a question like that before.”

“A story with someone like me,” was all I had asked, Was that really too hard a task? The eyes of the Year Two teacher saw my frown “Why so sad?” her arms like a gown.

“Try Blackberry Blue, but wait a few years,” Her words built the dam for my awaiting tears. “Give your local library a try, they might be of help.” “That’s a good idea!” we chorused with a yelp.

“Holes, by Louis Sachar,” the assistant said. But he kissed a white girl and they shot him dead. Mum’s concern could have filled the rafters “Perhaps we want something with a happily ever after.”

Entering the Pipers library, a beacon of light Honestly, I could have stayed all night! Mrs Harris and Mrs Everitt, with smiles of a summer’s day, “A story with someone like me,” they hear me say.

The train of books left the station, They both showed me many an author’s creation “There’s Children of Blood and Bone, by Tomi Adeyemi, Or Marjorie Blackman, and Sita Brahmachari”

The titles were endless, The library fairies picked more, Until one day Mrs Harris did something tremendous, Patrice Lawrence was bought through the door.

“I have someone that you might like to meet” The Orangeboy author said something to me, She smiled, and we both took a seat, “Write the stories you want others to see.”

The warmth of her soul will always live on, Each book dust-jacketed with her presence and light, Her help will be remembered, honoured, revered, Even though she is no longer here. Personal Evolution