He stands on a stool so his elbows
have room to bend, but still needs help
from mom if the milk bottle’s full.
My girl, five, wiggles as I weave quatrains of
gold on yellow ribbon through her hair and
speak our rhyming poems into the mirror.
“You carry my love with you,” we say.
Every weekday morning is the same.
I write couplets, hand draw cartoons,
put the notes atop nutbutter sandwiches,
fill bags with cracker-schools of fish.
After drop off, I turn on the news
and pray my children’s school
won’t be the one today—beg God
to protect my kids from your inaction.
Four million dollars is power past my reach,
so I send poems into the world, then hope,
like dandelion seeds they will take root
wherever they may land. This is yours to keep.
(Cambra Koczkur: “This poem is written in response to
the STEM school shooting in
Highlands Ranch, Colorado, last week and addressed to one of our current US
senators who has taken $4 million from the NRA.”)
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