I wrote this poem after a trip to visit my sister in the mountains. There, the air is crisp, and our kids play in the mud, climb logs, and follow the geese around the ponds. The cell phone reception is poor out there, so most of the time I'm offline—leaving space for other senses to come online.
I found myself reflecting on how much this society has forgotten the sacredness of children—how we are witnessing the martyrdom of thousands overseas, and the criminalisation of children as young as ten within a system that disproportionately targets First Nations youth here in the so-called 'lucky country.' The systems meant to uphold justice on this planet seem either powerless to stop this madness or unwilling to recognise it as a continuation of colonial violence.
Children have always been a sign of hope, and in their eyes, I see a fight already won. Still, I struggle to understand why we, the 'adults,' place the onus on children to remind us of our humanity—or expose our lack of it—through both their lives and their deaths.
