Judy,

I still hear your voice,
and a deep chuckle,
as you pause your mop
to tell me about the kid
who ran down the hall,
smacked his nose on
Marsha’s door,
two seconds after
you told him, “Stop running.”

I still see your bright eyes,
infectious smile,
knowing nod as you visit
my room after three,
lean against the table,
and assure me that my daughter
really is a good girl.
We laugh and you say
you’ve been working out.

I say you look great
and I think to myself
that greatness is you
within, without.
You called yourself
a custodian. My students
called you, Miss Julie.
I’m inclined to believe
that maybe you were
a heavenly messenger

sent to remind us
to love one another,
instead of dwelling
on imperfections,
to cherish the small things,
like grandbabies,
to give second chances,
and to measure success
by the kindnesses
we leave behind.

8 thoughts on “Judy,

  1. a fine tribute.
    People like that do look great, they make us all look a little better.
    It is easy to see and feel the love here eapecially in the last lines.

    peace

    1. Thank you! I only wish I could capture the sound of her voice with my words. I think that’s the hardest thing to do and her voice was one of the things I liked so much about her.

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