“This, Too, Is a Lesson”

“This, Too, Is a Lesson”

The murder women speak of Ukraine.
It isn’t here, the terror, but it is real
and true and criminal. They tell
of disaster preparedness kits,
evangelists selling buckets
of apocalypse soup, the unbearable
hopelessness of a flag on a profile
picture or a retweeted show of support.

I am walking outside on a breezy day
in a jacket from a sporting goods store.
Vaguely military, olive green, tactical
pockets, inner pulleys that tighten
at the waist. It is warm enough for
a forty-four-degree morning. It is
a good fit and comfortable.

It is not enough to protect me
from threats unforeseen.

The murder women speak of Ukraine
and their utter whatthefuckness calms
my heart in Kansas where the sky
is blue, the wheat is golden, and our
sunflowers grow wild along the highway.

Soon I will walk back to the classroom
where young people learn to be forces
of good. To defend the things they believe in,
to know why that matters. There is no better
teacher of it all than the present moment.

I hate that this, too, is a lesson.