As the March release of my book Mother May I rolls closer, I am pondering this question often. Many of my poems from the collection are now two-three years old, which makes it easier to step back and take stock. In the case of my poem, "The Monday after Newtown. . . :," it is made from the way an event intersected my life.
Last week marked the anniversary of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary. In December 2012, our oldest daughter was in pre-K, which is the first year of public schooling in our state. How did the parents in the community do it? How did they send their children to school again? Questions like those ached in me through the months following the shooting. The concept of routine haunted me. I wrote disjointed feelings in my notebook. I wrote what my daughter said as she got ready for school the first Monday after. I read. In particular, I read Rachel Zucker's Museum of Accidents, and I was particularly taken with these lines in the poem "What Dark Thing":
Question:
Are you the type of person who, when you hear a child suddenly died--Say a two and a half-year-old girl with a room full of toys--wants to have another?
Just in case?
The poem I ended up writing months later is longer than many of my poems. It mirrors Rachel Zucker's style in this way, and in the way it pulls from several sources: dialogue, "found" material, memories, and the darkness of the subconscious mind. I'll conclude for now with a part of the poem:
The Monday after Newtown our daughter gets ready for school
“Is there ever a right day,
I mean you just do it, you know,
get them back to school.” Peter Muckell, Newtown parent
She goes into her room
Comes out holding a blanket under her chin
Mama look I wanted to surprise you
She drops the blanket and shouts
Purple all purple Mama
She puts her hands to her chest to prompt me
Purple shirt? Hands to her knees
Purple pants? To her feet
Purple socks?
We agree to do it
We are the parents
The school sent a letter
Re-establishing routines is a critical part of getting back to normal
Make beds
Start the wash
Fold clothes
She’s not here
She is at school
The phone does not ring
Last night I dreamed the hallway
The principal and counselor running
after him
stop stop they would stop him
