McSweeney’s? The humour magazine? I’m used to reading brilliant writing there, but nothing like this. There’s nothing funny here and it’s one of the best things they’ve ever published:

When another child’s upset—before the adults notice, before the child even cries—she takes their hand. She leans her forehead against theirs, gently, like she’s checking for a fever only she can feel.

She doesn’t write poems.

She is one.