Before the First School Bell, Teachers in Bronx Make House Calls
I remember the hours in traffic
Driving unfamiliar streets
Boarded up buildings with shattered windows,
Forested roads lined with evergreens
Meeting each of you, at home
Cameo poised at the edge of the couch, clutching a purse,
As her brothers wrestled on the floor and the dog growled;
Alan, in a manicured backyard, with the baseball cap your mother kept insisting you remove;
Amichi, surrounded by Nigerian textiles, deep in the suburbs ,
Shea, beautiful and bright, in a cramped apartment north Minneapolis
Glen, how your father flashed his golden teeth and told you to behave,
Crystal, in a room filled with Native American drums and sunlight,
Lily, sleepy and blooming, surrounded by orchids.
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