Today's poem is Living in the News by Hannah Burroughs. It is read by Samaa Abdurraqib.
Living in the News
Yesterday, I watched the newshour
while I washed dishes. I saw a man
clutching the body of his small
daughter, her long black curls
flopping over the crook of his arm. His friends
flanked him on the narrow street, gripping
his shoulders, his elbows, like they'd hold
him as he held her—if he'd let them.
I thought about my luck to be born
here, where the sun rises over wide,
peaceful fields that my children
never saw a tank cross. At
sunrise, thousands of
spider webs twist and glint between
columns of grass. I thought about
my stupid stresses (end of quarter
grades, all those college recs)
and how observing their
stupidity doesn't banish them.
Today, I woke early to this
note on the kitchen table:
There is a
Shooter in Lewiston
who is on the run and
school is canceled
Love -Solomon
Since he could write
thank-you notes,
he's signed off -Solomon. Add
love! we always said. He'd shrug,
embarrassed. This rare
Love said: I'm sorry to share this
horror with you, but
we still have each other,
we're all ok. It was the
softening of a blow from my
14 year old—a strange reversal.
In the next reversal, I went first
to the local, not national, news to
read about a mass shooting. I saw a photo
of a woman waiting at the reunification
center, her strong hand covering her
face. Her love was playing pool at
Schemengees Bar and Grille, the caption
read. His friend was critically injured. She'd
looked for her love all night, she'd
called all the area hospitals.
I want to grip her shoulder. I
want to grip everyone's shoulder. I
write a poem instead.