brooke

ALT For My Students, After the Election There are still your stories, still stars in the pine trees. There are still children making their way back from school, trying not to step on cracks in the sidewalk, believing it matters. There are still mothers kneeling in the ruins, promising the gunshots aren't coming. There are still fathers alone in the night, the wounds in them like mule-deer in the orchards, trying not to clack their antlers. There is still the heart, the moon. Come, loves, let's stand here after madness. The world is not over, only broken. There are old books, there are horses in the lemon trees. There are children, still, waiting in the classrooms, looking up with tired eyes full of wonder. Look at them. There is work we have to do. —Joseph Fasano