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.