National Anthem for a Lockdown Drill  — Nadia Patel

Give the white boy a gun because he is American. 

Wrap it in the flag, 
call it freedom, 
call it heritage, 
call it his right before you call it a weapon. 

Teach him the anthem before you teach him empathy.
Tell him liberty means never being told no. 
Tell him strength is loud and metallic,
cold against trembling hands. 

On the news, they will use careful words— 
tragedy, 
incident, 
troubled youth— 
as if language can bleach the stain. 

They will show his school photo, 
cropped soft at the edges, 
and debate his loneliness 
longer than they debate the laws. 

Un-United States— 

Where children practice hiding 
more often than they practice multiplication. 

Where teachers memorize barricade techniques 
alongside lesson plans. 

Where we say “thoughts and prayers” 
like a script we never stop rehearsing,
hands over hearts 
that break the same way every year. 

We argue for amendments 
while mothers learn how to say their child's name in the past tense. 

Stitched together by grief, 
divided by denial,
standing for a moment of silence that grows longer 
and longer 
while the next headline waits.


Nadia Patel is a freshman in Massachusetts who enjoys public speaking, writing poetry, and taking long walks. Her work often explores themes of injustice and contradiction within American culture through imagery and direct language.

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graveyard of little things — Emily Tong

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The Making of a Man — Isabella Burns