Irony at its best

So here I am, reading Wordsworth, It’s In Your Pocket. Wordsworth is in deep grief because his friends are all addicted to their electronic devices. How can he get them back into the real world of friends? An old mouse tells him the answer is in his pocket.

During the reading, I heard a woman say the battery to her phone had died.

A man in the audience later said, “I felt I was transferred to a new dimension…it was so surreal. While you were reading, many were so busy with their electronic devices, they weren’t hearing your story at all. Amazing!”

Yes, Wordsworth has his job cut out for him.

Thank you Christine Reed of Basically Books in Hilo for the standing room only event.

 

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To Children of the 21st Century

Dear Tyler of Montana,

Evan here is in Hawaii and he’s planting the sunflower seeds you sent me. He told his mom that he needs to talk to the seeds to give them extra CO2. A few days later he asked his mom to yell at the seeds to help them grow. He doesn’t like to yell at people and things so would she do that for him? A few days later, the seeds all popped. He is so excited. My friend Red told him, sunflower seeds are not deaf and they can hear whispers. My sunflowers are over 5 feet high in Sacramento, Tyler.

I wrote this poem and it’s not about you or Evan. It’s about all those children who never planted a sunflower seed.  You both hold a very special place in my heart.

 

To Children of the 21^st Century

 

How do you keep your fingers so free of dirt?

How do you come in from play without

Mud on your feet, your clothes, your cheeks?

How do you not even sweat?

 

How do you live without giving eye contact

To the person sitting in front of you?

How do you spend time with your friend

Without conversation?

 

Oh Children of the 21^st Century,

Why is there silence in a room filled

With family on this holiday?

How did you become so mute?

 

Do you know how rain feels

Soaking your shirt to your skin?

The smell of sea salt in your hair

After a dip in the sea?

 

Have you watched a little seed

Pushing its first breath

Out of soil you’ve patted down

A few weeks ago?

 

Can you see a cardinal, a mynah,

A crow, with your eyes closed, listening

To their signature songs they sing out to you

In your own back yard?

 

Do you know the feel of your grandpa’s hand

Warm and strong in your hand?

The story behind that long scar that runs

The length of his arm?

 

Do you ever count clouds, lying

On soft green grass, laughing

Over silly stuff shared with a friend?

Do you ever cry over a child starving

 

In Africa or in your neighborhood?

Feel upset over trees being cut

For freeways and shopping malls,

Fancy sports arenas?

 

Have you ever used the eraser

At the end of a pencil,

Writing a poem, a song, a story.

A thank you note?

 

Do you know the feel of crisp

New pages of a book, as they unfold

Moving plots, faster than your impatient

Fingers can follow your eyes?

 

Oh, Children of the 21^st Century,

Forgive us, for what we have done.

 

© Frances Kakugawa

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