Oh, Canada . . .

February 11, 2026

My American heart grieves for Canada this day, particularly for Tumbler Ridge Secondary School, for its community, and for British Columbia. How I despair to see Canadians experience and feel what so many Americans have had to experience and feel ourselves: the senseless, soul-searing, heartbreak, confusion, anger, and helplessness of unexpected violence against the innocent. I am so sorry. As a fellow blogger said, “I feel it wouldn’t have happened there, if it hadn’t happened. here first.” I agree, and am so very sorry.

I offer my prayers on your behalf, and I offer this poem, written after the terrible tragedy in Uvalde, TX, in 2022, which seems like yesterday. Beyond that, I have no more words. Please know I am holding all of you in my heart.

Half-Mast

Our flag slides down the silver pole
once again
stopping halfway
again
its path now embedded in habit.
This time it pauses and wavers
in remembrance of nineteen children
two school teachers
each crumbling one after another
onto the blood-smeared floor.
I see their photos, smile after smile
on brown faces, white faces,
hopeful faces,
one boy wears a t-shirt
“Difference Maker” emblazoned
in white.
Gone, they are gone,
sacrificial lambs
placed upon the red brass altar
of the American Gun.
Copper, tin, and zinc bow down,
and all the temple priests
in royal garb and meaningless chant
surround it with their “rights”
and their endless hungry fear.
I go outside where my summer plants
are blooming, and I prune them,
setting each loose blossom
to the wind,
an offering for the children who will not
race in the sun.

(c) Rosemary McMahan