By Linda Sue Park
Turn off the lights.
Wear another layer.
(Sounds like a dad.)
(Sounds like a mom.)
You say hand-me-down.
I say retro.
Walk.
Bike.
Walk some more.
Recycle.
(See what I did there,
bike—recycle?)
Your name in Sharpie
on a good water bottle.
Backpack. New habits.
No thanks, don’t need a bag.
What else.
Oh yeah.
Tell ten friends
who can tell ten friends
who can tell ten friends …
Make enough noise,
maybe the grown-ups
will finally hear
the scream in the title.
Source: Poetry (February 2021)
Poet Bio
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My first instinct is to translate
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I feel guilt for this mistake—
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My mother and I are playing charades
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Meanwhile
From the Sky
When I die,
bury me in the sky—
no one is fighting over it.
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