Elegy for Hannah Hart
Jennifer Hart drove her six children to their deaths as her wife looked up how much they would suffer —CNN, April 2019
Hannah told people—with her crouch
under the neighbor’s bed, her broken
watchface that morning late for class,
Sally Dick and Jane already repeating,
see spot run. O, how she wanted to run,
to be anywhere but in that chair
in a room of kids in rows reciting gibberish.
Children, they tell, not always with words
but with their faces, their bodies—
hungry for a friend’s peanut butter, front teeth missing
in middle school, a young boy holding tight to a cop:
help me, hide me, protect me from my parents.
Hannah’s mothers knew their children
were telling. It was only a matter of time
before someone heard. They home-schooled,
refused to open the door, fled state to state.
Before she hit the gas, before she drove Hannah—
drove all her children—over a cliff,
Jennifer Hart bought each one a banana—
they were so hungry. Later, at the scenic overlook,
a passerby noticed twisted metal below,
banana peels flung on the rocks.