A poem by Cortni Merritt
They ask: “Why can’t we have plain ‘history month’?”
I add: “And science month and art month and math and music months too?”
Better yet, why can’t education be focused on learning instead of teaching?
But this isn’t about students, it’s about children
It’s about facts and truth and double speak. It’s about
the weak and the vulnerable. (Let not suffer
the children. Their hearts are the art of nothingness,
silence, emptiness, and clean slates.)
It’s about the year I was born, and the year you were born.
He joked, “Remember when you were the future?”
But now. That future is slipping through
my fingers like white hairs that slip out of my crown. Some
cache in me cries, “but I am still the future.” I may still
have some future in me.