A poem and a plea against forced separation

Los Indios on the Playground of America

Brown and small,

sister and brother

wander the schoolyard

scraping in the dirt

at the edge of the play.

In her ruffled skirt,

Karolina scans the field.

Dark eyes

watch the others,

who loud and entitled,

commandeer

the Big Toy,

the soccer balls,

the slide.

With his swaying

old man walk,

Cesar leads them back

to his miniature

fort of loose dirt and grass.

There they sit—

away from the white kids

who ride the screeching swings

higher and higher,

as if they owned them.

The poem reflects an observation from 2004. A rather quiet, but definite separation. Now, to our horror, brutal ICE thugs have murdered and captured non criminals going about their business. A loud and terrible separation.

I cannot stomach that Congress may pass a bill to add funding for ICE. They have already received billions of dollars for the next four years and in no way, act, like properly trained federal officers. No ID, masks, no accountability.

I am grateful to all who have raised their voices in protest, letters and phone calls; to those who have dissented in their own way, to stand by their neighbors.

The monks march for peace, some pray the rosary, I dig up an old poem that unfortunately, still seems pertinent.

Sen. Moreno: 202-224-2315. Sen. Husted: 202-224-3353

Janet Ladrach

Sugarcreek.