Whenever It Rains Fräulein Dr. Sauter, our religion teacher, wore hand-knit underwear. Couldn't buy any--she was as big as Noah's Ark. Whenever it rains, I think of her. She loved that story. Wanted to sail away, 'cupped in God's hands.' She'd clasp hers, rocking them back and forth like a boat in steep waves. We dropped our pencil boxes to peek up her skirt, past wide-spread knees, to view thighs encased in 'knit-one, purl-one'. We'd learned to knit socks that year. It took four needles. She must have needed eight, no, sixteen. While teaching, she sat on two chairs, one for each haunch. One day, a chair broke. Dr. Sauter hit the floor like a hippopotamus heading for water. No way could she get up. With side-gripping laughter, we had to fetch the Herr Direktor to help us hoist her to her feet. We pictured old Noah with all his sons and daughters pushing, pulling some big mammoth aboard the ark. The next day she told us why she loved that story. Noah, she said, ignored the laughter.
Source: I have learned five things, 1995 winner, Nat’l Fed’n StatePoetry Societies’ manuscript comp
Contributed by: Zaady