M. Hank

We went to Montreal recently 

On a school trip for our band. 

We almost didn't have a performance to go watch 

Or a friendship concert with another school 

It wasn't hot for once. Ohio remains hot every summer but the night seems to be like cold water poured over a fire pit:

the heat lightens up but the smoke of it hangs in the air, the remnants of what it was before.

I'm sorry 

I'm sorry for what 

My country is doing 

For what we seem to think 

Is OK   

I'm sorry for how 

My president is acting 

As I sit in the grass a sense of magic overcomes me. The mother of all, Gaea, is here.

I can’t see her, but I feel her presence everywhere. She is crying, sobbing, mourning her lost children, the trees, the birds, the bears, the flowers.

I find at night

I am haunted by thoughts.

Simpler things, like

Math assignment due tomorrow, can I finish it by then?

or

Did I really turn in the essay or not? I don't remember...

At school

we're doing a poetry unit.

"Oh cool, we write poetry all the time!"

My friend says.

What we didn't realize, though,

was that the teacher turned on the tap

to our inner selves