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Wednesday, December 19, 2012


It’s Supposed to be Christmasy at School.

Bambi’s  pooled eyes knows to fear the gun shot;
a gun took his mother’s life.
A child knows to fear guns, to fear real guns.
Black metal, gun powder, a trigger finger …
Guns take.
One shot will take a classmate,
A teacher,
A friend,
A mother,
A father,
An uncle, A cousin,
His enemy,
His brother,
His sister.

And now there is more than
There is fear
where there was safety…
Where there was learning,
there is pain…
Unimaginable pain is
when  tears fall on
the unexplained.
There is blood stained
on tiled floors,
dripping from colorful poster-board--
children scrambling, hiding under desks.
There is not time for lock-down drill.
The practiced routine,
the pledge of allegiance to the flag.
Line up for massacre,
the lunch bell rings--
the church bells weep.

A man.
A man.  A terrorist.
A man,  
is running through the halls
with a
a gun,
a real gun.
The noise is deafening.
The shot.
The shooting.
The screaming.
The scream.
We are crying.
The rotations of the
ricocheting bullets
puncturing softly into
the dewy skin of your kin, and then
there is coagulated silence,
where only the heartbeat
of the living witness and struggle to keep on living.


There is no sense there is only documentation. Let each soul that is lost to tragedy rest in peace.

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