Katherine’s father works on their farm, does carpentry
for some white families, sweeps the floor of the library,
where his children aren’t allowed to check out books.
As they walk home, Katherine takes two steps
for each one of his. He can look at a patch of pine
and guess how many trees fill a forest.
A single branch of pink blossoms tells him
how many apples may ripen on the whole tree.
I went to a school that stopped in sixth grade,
he says. White folks still claim the high school
is just for them, but I learned of two schools
in West Virginia where you’ll be welcomed.
Katherine, the world is bigger than this town.