for Grace Lee Boggs, Julia Putnam,
and the staff planning the new Boggs Center School in Detroit
The south window looks out on raised beds, bean vines.
Inside, a teacher understands the moments to praise
in a young girl's life, connecting her to the lives
that lit up Seneca Falls, Selma, Stonewall—and Detroit.
The old visitor, a poet, thinks of words bought and sold
like slaves. He attends the pleasing buzz of free talk,
the give and take after a child asks,
where do words go after we say them?
In the classroom that feels, strangely, like home,
he takes in the having of ideas, whispers and laughs from kids
high in the mind's jungle gym. Children are imagining
in different languages and accents, mapping paths
to reason and wonder, pushing on the heavy door
to the republic of learning. The visitor is almost afraid
to see long-buried promises coming to life:
children growing to the full height.
A grave third grader stands intent, studying a soap bubble,
two dark eyes reflected on the rainbow surface.