Do we know the facts? Do we really need to? The words “children shot and killed” are more than enough. Is there a why? Can there ever be? I will repost this, the shooting of another child, not two years ago, evidence that those in American who abide by the way of the gun have not learned…
Bracketed by violence, the story of an American girl
In memory of Christina-Taylor Greene
The screams of a thousand sirens
drowned out her mother’s
natal screams on a well-remembered
September day when body dust and Xerox copies
floated on the smoke of themselves.
Born into the horror of crumbling symbols,
mass death and grief,
now her life snuffs out amid gunfire
and further screams,
surrounded by a maze
of stranded shopping carts, spilled Fritos,
sodden Kleenex, crushed Pepsi…
at a Safe-Way, the American Way,
and on this particular January day
her mother screams, not with birth,
The way of the gun.
Who was she, this child entrusted here so briefly?
Bright hopeful eyes, permanent teeth coming in
just a bit crooked as is the way of a child’s smile,
shiny brown bangs, a flare of hope on the planet,
the face of the future, all that is best within us,
a promise for the day after tomorrow.
She was every holiday, every sunny day and
rainy ones as well, hunkered down with dreams
to save us from ourselves.
And where she has gone, what message of us will she
carry with her on her journey, to
some place where screams are unknown and
peace reigns finally.
I dream that she is my daughter.
I shake her and shake her and she
Will not arise.
Wake up darling.
I have written a poem
I have painted a picture
I have put forth a theory
Yet she does not arise.
There is no magic
Only tears and spent cartridge casings
On the supermarket floor.
Your daughter goes out one day, Saturday-excited,
Jazzed for the future, your baby, your own.
So alive that the air sparkles around her,
So innocent that Disney bluebirds encircle her head
She laughs, See you later…
But she never does.
Small metal fragments piece her
Precious holy skin
And you cannot protect her,
For your daughter goes out one day,
And you relive that moment, those last,
A road to be worn thin with the
Traveling years from now
And they, they may tell the story
But for you it will not matter,
Because for you it will always remain Saturday
(Christina Taylor-Green was born on 9/11/01 as the towers imploded and died in a mass shooting in Tucson 1/8/11)
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International