Karla Cote photo
By
Ann E. Wallace
The Price of a Wall
A Golden Shovel after Robert Frost
In the news, we learn of something
dark, and, oh, it is shameful. We see there
are children huddled in silver sheets, there is
no sun willing to shine within the cages that
we made of wire for babes, where home doesn’t
exist, and two-year olds learn to forget love,
along with their names. Wardens wipe not a
tear, and cries of mama are absorbed by the wall
of resolve like gold coins thrown to an ocean that
swallows gifts, churns them out, and wants
more. These cages are made for our children, it
is shameful, and yet we have not torn them down.
Cradle Will Rock
A Golden Shovel after the Nursery Song
I sit and watch, awed by the unwavering rock
steadiness of those tethered tight and tighter to a
mandate of tough law, willing to bid good bye
to compassion, to humanity for frightened baby,
toddler, child sleeping alone under thin silver in
a warehouse retrofitted for violations unseen, the
perimeter held tight while we scale fence and treetop
for a glimpse inside, crying out in horror when
the doors crack open, see children huddled in the
cold of cages slammed shut by the violent wind
of a nation’s change that shakes the trees and blows
loose those tender fruits hanging low to the
ground, wrenching them from the cradle
of a mother’s arms, steamrolling the maternal will
to protect, pulverizing into dust what once was rock.
Ann E. Wallace
Ann E. Wallace has been writing lately about our national identity, teenagers who are making a difference, and human rights issues that have suddenly become everyday concerns. Her work has recently appeared in Tuck Magazine, Juniper, Snapdragon, HerStory, and The Same, as well as in Poets Reading the News. She lives in Jersey City, NJ and is online at AnnWallacePhD.com and on Twitter @annwlace409.