Kimberly O'Connor

When I read the news that no one will sit
next to Tiffany Trump during fashion week,
I feel the way I felt when I learned
my daughter’s school was selling valentines
to be delivered during the school day
to kids whose parents or friends had bought them.
Imagine waiting though math, through literacy,
through lunch, PE, for the heart-shaped card
that never arrives. These are two small
instances of sorrow. The sorrow of the mother
whose son was shot at the border
while playing chicken with his friends is larger,
if sorrow can be measured. It’s like imagining
the universe, the distance between here
and the moon becoming tiny when compared
to the distance between planets.
Think of the galaxy next door and then
think of whole clusters of galaxies.
The moon is so far away most of us
will never touch it, but we’ve all been alone
in a crowd, hoping against hope someone
will notice us, that some small heart
or star will drift down to land in our palm.