By Linda Sue Park
Turn off the lights.
Wear another layer.
(Sounds like a dad.)
(Sounds like a mom.)
You say hand-me-down.
I say retro.
Walk.
Bike.
Walk some more.
Recycle.
(See what I did there,
bike—recycle?)
Your name in Sharpie
on a good water bottle.
Backpack. New habits.
No thanks, don’t need a bag.
What else.
Oh yeah.
Tell ten friends
who can tell ten friends
who can tell ten friends …
Make enough noise,
maybe the grown-ups
will finally hear
the scream in the title.
Source: Poetry (March 2021)
Poet Bio
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My brother still bites his nails to the quick,
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if time is queer/and memory is trans/and my hands hurt in the cold/then
there are ways to hold pain like night follows day
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it hurts like never when the always is now,
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Here’s an Ocean Tale
My brother still bites his nails to the quick,
but lately he’s been allowing them to grow.
So much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
as backdrop. It comes down to simple math.
The beach belongs to none of us, regardless
of color, or money....