(headline, Boston Globe)
The moon burns bright
enough to see
but I’m not allowed glasses
it’s all blurry to me
The night is so quiet
there’s hardly any noise
no more cries from
the little boys
We looked at each other
disbelieving the shake
moved in a panic as
the walls started to break
We rushed into the hall
too late to get away
the roof came down
and here we stay
I was there to learn
food bribed my way in
teaching one like me
is considered a sin
Rescuers are coming
I watch with dread
forbidden to touch me
they will leave me for dead
Remember me please
and share what I bore
disasters kill many
religion kills more
— Sheila Evans
This article appears in Burger Week 2025.