Recently Mary Lee Hahn shared a prompt from Padraig O’Tuama’s newsletter with our writing group. It invited the writer to consider something that had become ordinary. It asked a series of numbered questions and then directed you to put those questions in the correct order to create a pantuom. In an irony that I really am not appreciating, I chose to address the violence that is epidemic in our country and the world at large. Earlier this week, this was just another exercise in my writing notebook, written in my safe little bubble, where I tried to make sense of our country’s love affair with guns and violence and humanity’s inhumanity and how we can become numb to it all. I wasn’t planning on finishing it or on sharing it. But today I did just that.
Because yesterday it all got a bit more real. Because I live in Maine. And in Lewiston, Maine, less than 20 miles away from my home, 18 people were killed last night and 13 wounded at a bar and at a bowling alley. Where a youth league was bowling. And at this time there’s still a massive manhunt underway. And families are shattered. And my school was closed today (along with many others) while families in that community were ordered to shelter in place. And I wondered how parents were explaining this all to their children. To my students. And how would I answer the inevitable questions when we (and when will we?) return to school. And the killer lived in the town adjacent to mine. And I just can’t wrap my head around this. And late this afternoon I received a blaring emergency public service announcement extending the shelter in place order to my town. And now instead of looking for deer out the window, I’m looking for a killer. Which I know is ridiculous, but still I catch myself glancing out again and again. And soon (when?) I’ll return to my second grade classroom, where we’ll try to get things back to normal. In the same place we practice for just this type of scenario. And how is that normal? And I feel so heartbroken and so angry and so damned impotent.
Just Another Day in the Good Old USA
Day starts…the somber newscaster spills the latest body count
disaster unfolds across our planet
I barely notice grief’s newest location
a mass shooting here. there. war. war. war.
Disaster unfolds across our planet
we are monster makers
a mass shooting here. there. war. war. war.
we breed hate and disaster
We are monster makers
The television pulses with gunshots and bloodshed
we breed hate and disaster
Some days I don’t even wince at the death toll
The television pulses with gunshots and bloodshed
I barely notice grief’s newest location
Some days I don’t even wince at the death toll
Day starts…the somber newscaster spills the latest body count
©Molly Hogan
Today, I have definitely noticed grief’s newest location.
My heart goes out to all who have lost loved ones to violence in Lewiston, Maine and throughout the world, and I hope with every ounce of my being that this local situation ends without further tragedy.
This week’s Poetry Friday is hosted by Carol Labuzetta at her blog, The Apples in My Orchard.
Nix the comfort zone 
I keep wondering how my heart can break again, can break any more than it already has. And then it does. Thank you for writing your way through this newest grief, and for sharing your powerful, painful words with us.
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There is so much sadness in the world. And so much beauty.
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Oh Molly. My heart goes out to you, your students, and your community. When will this stop? I appreciate your words, your thoughts, your poetry.
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I’ve never felt that Maine was immune to this sort of violence. Its only predictability is the certainty that it will occur again. We glamorize violence and embrace weapons and wonder how this happens…
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Molly, Thanks for this somber and serious post. I do not understand it either and yes, it is numbing. It must stop. How can we motivate others to stop this nonsensical loss of life, and love of violence?! It seems to be a perennial question with no answer. My heart breaks for Maine and your communities there, as well as others who experience these tragedies.
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Oh, Molly, I am sorry for you and then for all the others near that have been leading their usual lives until they aren’t, rather like your title, just another day. . . I’ve been with students in past years when tragedies happened and supported and hugged and cried with them (middle school). Sadly, I retired 10 years ago so of course that means nothing has changed as we all know. The poem’s repetition shows more than we can know.
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I don’t understand how the answer to this, in some sectors, is to strengthen access to guns or to increase security measures. It would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic.
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Molly, first, I am so sorry this is happening so close to home for you. I hope that you stay physically safe, knowing this has already had an emotional impact. You are so right. I feel resigned and hopeless when it comes to gun control. Chilling.
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This new normal is too real and too wrong to allow to go on, and yet we get detritus in our mailboxes to once again elect someone who “protects our gun rights” with an enlarged picture of him with a handgun. And the saddest thing of all is he won in a landslide vote. There will be no change until our lawmakers SEE the Problem! I could go on. I’m so sorry this is hitting so close to home.
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I forgot to speak to the craft of this poem. It works so well to turn your anger to rant. You will be a wonderful comfort to your students when you return to school. Read to them. Hold them. Cry with them. It’s all OK.
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My PF post was in response to all this madness, too, Molly…and now, knowing your proximity, my heartache joins yours. I am a Padraig follower, too. I did the same exercise. The pantoum form is a perfect vessel for our shared outrage, disgust, numbness, questions… maybe it’s the repetition and the way the form allows us to return in each new line with another attempt at making sense of the world. I hope it won’t be long when you can return to looking for deer out your window.
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It’s always so close, and now becomes yet closer… The line that just punched me in the heart was “I barely notice grief’s newest location.”
This is our awful truth.
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I’m so sorry, Molly! Such a heart felt poem. In our decided country you’d think that we could come together over preventing disasters like this, but from what I see from leaders, even such disasters don’t move many of them to even try to make things better. So sad and scary.
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It’s such a complete abdication of responsibility on the part of our politicians!
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I wish I could say this is a shock to read. It’s not. I’m constantly wondering how much more we well all be asked to absorb. I’m so sorry for the loss, the destruction and the trauma that everyone, including teachers, must handle in the aftermath. It’s awful. Thank you for putting this horrible ordinariness into words.
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And then I think of countries and communities who live with constant daily violence…
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Molly, I have been thinking of you and all your neighbors and citizens of Maine this week. The shelter-in-place orders are awful and such a thing that we do not want to become ordinary. And your second graders…I’m so sorry. Your pantoum is powerful with lines like “a mass shooting here. there. war. war. war.” and “We are monster makers” Wow. I too had to write about the gun violence in our nation.
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I ask myself, how this can keep happening. My heart breaks for all those who are suffering. Thank you for your very powerful poem. xo
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The heartbreak can feel unrelenting. So much sorrow…
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Molly, I’ve been thinking of you! We are monster makers. This true and horrible line will be ringing in my mind for a while. It feels like the perfect way to acknowledge, bluntly, that we–not they–are teaching, encouraging, allowing this to happen over and over.
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Thanks, Laura. I do feel that our culture is perpetuating this cycle and that we’re willfully blinding ourselves to that by looking only at the individual…over and over again.
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It’s not normal. It’s heartbreaking. Wrong. And way too prevalent. Why do the few with power allowed to continue to rip the world apart? When will enough be enough? I’m so sorry.
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Thanks, Bridget. To me it feels like a horrible symptom in our society, yet too many don’t want to look hard and diagnose the underlying illness.
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Oh Molly! I’m so sorry this hits so close to home. Your poem is powerful! “Grief’s newest location…” really hit me hard. Hoping you and your students can be together next week. There is so much suffering in this world. Thank you for sharing.
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Thanks, Marcie. My students were remarkable resilient and school was pretty “normal” on Monday. I think it helped to have a weekend with family before coming back. I worry so about what they’re internalizing though–what normal feels like to them.
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Thanks for your heartfelt words that speak to what I feel. I’m finding that I, too, “I barely notice grief’s newest location.” Does the school provide counseling for the guardians of kids like you? How does one go from sharing grief and anger to healing and building and evolving? I hope your principal is looking out for his flock.
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The school is definitely supportive and I’ve always felt fortunate to work with our principal. He walks the walk.
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You have a rare principal. Bring him cookies (or your gift of choice).
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Molly, it has been a long pre-Halloween weekend so it took me a while to make rounds (and I am still not done). I am so sorry that you felt the sting of tragedy near you. There is no rhyme or reason for what has started happening recently. The evening news is a constant repetition of the latest horrific event. Your poem iis filled with emotion. May healing start for those in your locale.
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Thanks for your healing wishes, Carol. I am so desperately sad for all those whose lives have been ripped apart.
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