Driving home from school
and the questions
jut out of them
like springs
who invented words
how many people are sneezing right now
why are some trees short
and then suddenly
we are talking
about migrant children
and I try to keep
the details vague
but they know
they must be so scared
my daughter says
but that’s wrong
my son says
and both are quiet
as we watch the blur
of streets that bloat
with casual safety
and choices everywhere
that we take for granted
like rain
and then my son
gets his loud voice
I don’t want to write
stupid letters
I want to go there
and rip down the fences
I start to say something
about violence
but I stop
I can see his eyes
in the rear view mirror
there is a wild heat
inside him
and god knows
those children
need warmth.