This poem against gun violence and school shootings was published in I am not a silent poet:
Lately
I have changed
my schedule
to drop him off.
I fill my nostrils
with the smell of
aftershave he’s started dabbing,
hair cream he’s started applying.
I fill my palms
with the girth
of his solid arm
as I squeeze him goodbye.
I fill my eyes
with his tall frame
becoming small towards the brick building.
And I press with my fingers into the hippocampus,
the color of his T-shirt,
the leather patch on his jeans,
and the logo on his tennis shoes.
In case.
Lately
I feel as if
I’m seeing off my son to war,
not another day at school.