Last night, at Poetry Press Week, my 7 year old friend, Hamza Akalin, read two of my poems from a book I’m working on called Agnes the Elephant. The first was an excerpt about the missing boy who had been missing his entire life. He read it from behind the curtain before ever coming out while drone metal, Tecumseh’s “Cascadia”, played in the background. Then he came out from behind the curtain as a ghost, blood at his floaty bottom, and read an excerpt about killing the chickens with an axe from an old book called A Dipper Full of Stars while the lines of the poem appeared, one at a time, on the wall behind him. Poetry Press Week was fun. I want to do it again. I know so few people who are Hamza’s age, but I can’t imagine many of them being as aware of the magic and power of poetry and language as he is.