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When I start class with a period
Of sitting meditation and quiet,
I often ask my students to put
A hand over their hearts
So they can feel their chests
Rising and falling with breath,
Their bodies beginning to slow
So their minds know where to go,
And after a while, I go back
To my third-grade classroom
With the other boys and girls
All standing, hands on hearts,
Behind our teacher at her desk,
With liberty and justice for all,
Words we wear out like the knees
In our jeans, the tips of shoelaces,
Braids undone, chewing gum --
Our teacher, too, tattered a bit,
Class after class of us smart-alecks
And do-gooders and scaredy-cats,
Not so different from those here
Who sit with me and pledge
Allegiance to the hearts we got.