I
“The pen is mightier than the sword,”
Bulwer-Lytton wrote long ago.
Words, with strength enough
to repel the bullets violently vomited
by rapid fire weapons of wars
not being fought on this soil, in this land,
in these schools,
abandon me.
My words have no power.
I cannot weave a bulletproof shield
of words to protect my grandchildren
from this earth they will inherit:
where four-year-old preschoolers
practice active shooter drills,
beginning their journey of learning
of how to live without innocence:
We created a skin of fear
into which they are born,
and now, we teach them to live
inside that skin of fear
with lockdown drills, metal detectors, and
lessons in barricading classroom doors,
as we wait for the hollowness
of thoughts and prayers
and good guys with guns
to save us all.
With what voices,
with what words
will we speak
in answer--
when our ghost children rise
to ask us why
we did not save them.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 