A POEM TO MY DAUGHTER AT THE AMUSEMENT PARK SHOOTING RANGE by Crystal Ignatowski
Nearly five. You
only know good
people. You still
dream of castles,
of knights on horses,
of growing long
hair. Three states
away is another
shooting. Pop pop. Bang
Bang. You just touched
your first fake gun
last week.
The amusement
park buzzed
like electricity
ready to go out.
You pointed the barrel
at yourself.
We all hesitated
then laughed.
Secretly,
we each felt seen.
