School’s Out Tanka
slippery snowpack
pancakes sizzle on wood stove
kids play Crazy Eights
Spaceballs twice on DVD
at the hearth wet socks dry
slippery snowpack
pancakes sizzle on wood stove
kids play Crazy Eights
Spaceballs twice on DVD
at the hearth wet socks dry
Another mass shooting,
Another day of fear,
Another community,
Left in pain and tears.
Another headline,
Another news brief,
Another moment of shock and disbelief.
Another set of families left to grieve,
Another call for change, but will it ever be achieved?
Another moment of silence and mourning,
Another reminder of need for constant warning.
Another mass shooting,
nothing in place to mitigate,
Another round of condolence,
meaningful action can no longer wait!
I’m on the floor, playing with grandkid’s toys.
I’m an adult, so they have to let me.
I’ll think I’ll take some of their picture books
with me when I pack my bag for law school.
#
Now they’re tweens with their own apartments.
I’m an adult, so the door is double bolted.
I’d teach them to eat trail mix and play poker
but, evidently, I’m the one with a lot to learn.
Whose bones these are I think I know
Under a thin screed of snow
All picked clean and scattered about
But which is whose they all had bones
We stand our horses out of reverence
No point to risk a closer look
Bobby’s leg he broke when he was nine, we might find
Or Granny’s jaw, no teeth
Then Alfred’s skull with the bullet hole
Even the bullet might come out whole
I saw it go in, anyway
That day the mob ran over us
This place is dangerous, desolate and cold
We should not linger exposed and skyed
We have purpose; watchful scouts must ride
Make our circuit for the few who hide, alive
We saw redwoods that twenty men
could not form a chain around
but there were some the wind
had knocked down
like it knocks down a candle flame.
We approached seals along the shore
which barked when we came too close.
We spoke softly, being strangers,
and looked over our shoulders
and locked the car doors at stoplights
and worried as night fell
about drug addicts sneaking in
through the rental house windows.
We left them open anyway,
so we could smell the salt air
and feel the tongue of the breeze
which formed the waves
which broke on the shore
and resifted the beach
melting the day’s footprints
and tipping us finally into sleep.
forgotten time
no just a day
again
it’s not for want of remembering
rather for busy
days full of doing and being
present they’ve called it now I know what it really means
fingers into thick gloves face covered mask and goggles
dog barking at arriving ruddy assistance
this is how I lose myself
and find myself
a forgotten day
with good reason
