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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com. No simultaneous submissions. Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here. Scroll down the right sidebar for the fine print.
Showing posts with label agent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label agent. Show all posts

Saturday, March 07, 2026

CLAMPDOWN AT DILLEY DETENTION CENTER

by Ellen Romano


Children detained at the immigrant family detention center in Dilley, Texas, speaking with ProPublica reporter Mica Rosenberg over video call. Clockwise from top left: Diana Crespo, Luka Mora, Juan Nicolas Mo, Alexander Perez, Amalia Arrieta, Mayra Delgado. Mica Rosenberg/ProPublica. Click here to donate to ProPublica.


 

Imagine the children’s drawings, 

a family of three, standing in a cage, 

a family of five, standing in a cage, their faces blank,

a family of seven lying down in a cage, labelled

with the words, me quiero ir,  I want to go home. 

 

Imagine the children’s letters,

We are kidnapped, help.

There’s an agent here, he’s watching us.

I can’t see Willi, accompanied by a picture of a pet cat.

 

On the day the art supplies are confiscated,

crayons, pencils, drawing paper,

the letters and pictures are seized as well,

portraits of friends, the tracing of a child’s hand,

tears and a frowning face in the palm,

even a five year-old’s picture of a peaked roof house,

lit from one corner by an inextinguishable sun.

 

One mother saves a handful of shredded pages,

all that is left of her daughter’s drawings. In a place

that is never warm enough, another mother hides

the drawings of as many children as she can

in the sleeves of her puffy jacket, carries them

everywhere. 

 

Imagine a government that tries to steal 

a child’s ability to imagine, imagine a five-year old

wearing a detention uniform, a replacement 

for the blue, bunny-eared jacket taken from him,

the conejo that shared his name,

 

imagine a child’s voice too dangerous to be heard,

though no louder than the sound

a crayon makes on a scrap of paper.



Author’s note: All descriptions of children's letters and art work were taken from various news articles except for the description of a five-year old's picture of a house, which as an elementary school educator I feel is quite typical.



Ellen Romano, she/her, is an educator, mother, grandmother, widow, and beekeeper living with her dog, Doc, in Hayward, California. She is the winner of Third Wednesday’s 2023 Poetry Prize, and won second place in Naugatuck River Review’s 2023 Narrative Poetry Contest. Other work has appeared in Lascaux Review, The Deadlands, december magazine, and other publications. 

Wednesday, June 01, 2022

SOUND AND FURY FROM UVALDE

by Suzette Bishop




I hear it from a two hours’ drive north,
From just below the scenic Texas Hill Country,
The scream of first getting the news
Their loved one was gunned down
Merged into one long, piercing, repeating sound,
Before a storm barrels southward,
Hail starting up slowly,
Then shaking the cathedral ceiling,
Our windows,
Animals running for cover.

We’ve driven through the small town,
Stopped to get gas,
Know a couple people who went to the junior college
On barrel racing scholarships,
Heard the grandson of someone from work survived.

A heart-stopped moment in class once
With the popping sound down the hall,
Two students, a veteran and FBI agent, meeting my eyes,
The veteran immediately slamming the door shut.
He always sat next to the door,
One leg jiggling, ready to escape.

Do you know what to do if there’s a shooter?
The agent asked me, asked the class.
Everybody nodded. 
The lectern and desks our only hope
Of keeping that door closed since there is no lock,
And I’m not given the key,
I am forced to tell them.

That time, it was just some backfiring or mechanical sound,
And we got back to what we were supposed to be doing,
Our hearts re-starting,
Still, I see us rocking the lectern from its moorings,
Pulling up the tape covering the wires to the computer,
Pushing and dragging it to the door,
The wires sparking, desks piled around it,
Some of us smashing desks into windows.

In one scenario, we get this done before
The shooter appears at our classroom on the second floor,
In some scenarios, the students jump two stories down,
Breaking bones, cut by glass, but alive,
In another scenario, the shooter enters at our end of the building
And sprints up the stairs, bypassing the first floor;
The veteran, some of his classmates
Sitting near him, try to keep the shooter out
By leaning hard against the door, but can’t,
The agent pulls out his concealed gun and shoots most times.

In many scenarios, the lectern is too heavy,
Too stuck, to move,
The desks too flimsy and small,
Their tabletop hinges squeaking loudly,
Drawing attend, wasting precious time.

In a few scenarios, the shooter is one of my students,
Already in the classroom,
Like the one who lovingly wrote poems about his gun,
The one having a meltdown and yelling at me
During the final,
Another ranting so loudly, another instructor looked in on us,
The one writing about hurting a classmate,
The one who mailed me a threatening letter,
Whoever left a knife at the lectern.

With the sound of hail ringing like deadbolt locks,
I use the knife to cut the wires.


Suzette Bishop has published three poetry books and two chapbooks, including her most recent chapbook Jaguar’s Book of the Dead. Her poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies. In addition to teaching, she has given workshops for gifted children, senior citizens, writers on the US-Mexico border, at-risk youth, and for an afterschool arts program serving a rural Hispanic community. She lives with her husband and two cats.

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

THE YEAR 2020 WEST COAST FIRES

by Sister Lou Ella Hickman 


An orange sky filled with wildfire smoke hangs above hiking trails at the Limeridge Open Space in Concord, California, on Wednesday. Photograph: Brittany Hosea-Small/AFP/Getty Images via The Guardian, September 9, 2020


Sister Lou Ella is a former teacher and librarian. Her poems have appeared in numerous magazines such as America, First Things, Emmanuel, Third Wednesday, and TheNewVerse.News as well as in four anthologies: The Night’s Magician: Poems about the Moon, edited by Philip Kolin and Sue Brannan Walker, Down to the Dark River edited by Philip Kolin, Secrets edited by Sue Brannan Walker, and After Shocks: The Poetry of Recovery for Life-Shattering Events edited by Tom Lombardo. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2017. Her first book of poetry entitled she: robed and wordless was published in 2015. (Press 53.)