Eight Days after the School Shooting
I know, I study this stuff.
It's anxiety tightening around my eyes
as I see campus for the first time since,
looking into eyes bloodshot in exhausted faces,
tears at their corners,
bodies bleeding in our fretful sleep.
I scan the paper and see we are yesterday's news,
reminder that students shot dead in classrooms are everyday sights.
I scan the landscape for last week's memorial flowers on the schoolhouse steps
but the steps are bare.
The ghostly memory of last week's lit white candles lingers;
the classroom building itself, a visual monument to death.
Everywhere I look, a reminder.
These eyes remember what they didn't see.
The picture in the back of my eyeballs haunts me.
Unexpectedly traveling too close to the edge,
and looking down.
© Christine S. Davis, 2019