Writing

I started getting folded-up sheets of blank loose-leaf paper from a girl in my algebra class six years ago. I still remember the first one I got in Junior year.

The snow was melting

when you talked to me

when they talked to you

when we stood with them

and their thinning perfume

their black backpacks

their straightened hair

their plans of the ride home.

In this whole world,

Snow and sun and metal and yet

You pick me?

Your favorite,

first in the morning and last at night

sometimes I think you’re foolish

the way you’ve placed me among the stars

A couple was shot in the city which I call home. Portland, Oregon. I learned the news right after I had gotten home from school. Had this really happened? Could it be true?

Why can’t we all just love each other?

Why does there have to be so much hate?

Can we ever learn to trust and accept those who are not like us or believe different things?

Claim your rocking chairs and
Your solipsistic sunsets,
But close your eyes and listen.
The cicadas have silenced, and listen!
Is it quiet?