On the Appalachian Trail Before a Mass Shooting

by Luke Janicki

Alex Diaz

I have been out in the open all day under the surveillance of trees.

In three days’ time, I will resist the urge to entrench myself in post, after post, after post.

I will lose somewhat, in a hole, my aunt responding: but what about this, and that, and the other.

The thing is that I don’t want to be closed into a hovel; my ideas ensnare me more than their reactions hanging down.

The thing is that 19 children will have been killed, and they will all want out, my ideas.

My hovel is a hostel tempting a good time and comfort; my aunt will always be there.

My ideas are not wide-eyed, award-holding, learning to read chapters, looking forward to summer.

A child is a soul who, when living, begets hope, existing wholly apart from adult limitations.

A hole in the ground in three days. Everywhere, a hole.

I will say though, I have been out in the stillness all day, and four of the same butterfly, seeking no answers, have crossed me right to left and flown ahead.

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Luke Janicki lives in Seattle, Washington. He has published poetry in Dipity Literary Magazine, Quarter Press, Apricot Press, Floating Bridge Press, and other publications. He has also written short-take articles for America Magazine. He holds a BA in English Literature and Spanish from Gonzaga University and an M.Ed. from the University of Notre Dame.