Children in America

Boys in blue pants and red shoes
Girls in white dresses
They fly like bells that cannot be captured
Ringing like copper

Everything on the ceiling
A foot kissing up on a table
They sit upright with heads toward the floor
Say all their words to each other
Pour cups of imaginary tea
I look at a bowl, split from the sky after a storm
I hear an ending
I remember my body in a small bed, when I thought I was falling
I remember my legs dangling in the water, small fish bouncing their lips against me.

In America, gods are worshipped, and hundreds of churches are abandoned in small towns
Today the children know the names of their parents, but a bridge is coming to push them
To the other side of the school

In the forest, a boy immerses himself in a dark pool no one has ever seen
He holds the memory of a girl swimming beside him
I want this boy to run, stretch his neck, sleep deep and certain, get up on his good, small bones
But he will do what he wants

What is happening to America?
Here are two girls, standing together, raising their arms
They have built themselves a house

Kirstin Ruth Bratt is a professor, mother, writer who is inspired by live theater and music. She can often be seen walking near the Mississippi River in Minneapolis or holding yoga poses in a hot studio.