the truth about april sixteenth

32 dead in a field somewhere.

One girl in a gray, baggy sweatshirt bearing the logo "VT",

Smelling of fresh laundry and musky deodorant

worn by her boyfriend

The day before.

Eight empty desks

and blank final exams

and caps and gowns worn in caskets.

Three girls laughing, sitting at the table next to you

talking about what kind of pizza to eat

later

what movie to watch

tomorrow.

One vegetarian

who found out when she was five

that her chicken nuggets from McDonald's

were just like the chickens in her neighbor's farm

only dead.

and one Purple Heart

who just got back

who thought he was safe

who thought violence like this was

an outside tragedy

who was taught to protect you

and me

against all enemies foreign

and domestic

who raced to stand

between you and the bullet

as you stood

frozen

because he didn't know any other way;

and neither did you.

Three engagement rings

bearing the glitter of happiness,

the shine of truth,

the promise of forever.

One prom queen:

everybody's sweetheart

baby

honey

darling

one mathlete:

somebody's doormat

tutor

role model

son

One future president

and one burnout -

their last words

"maybe tomorrow"

lingering, floating

on the edge of a cliff

waiting

to fall away.

One Beatle’s record

playing on repeat on the third floor

of the old brick building in the courtyard;

"nothing’s gonna change my world"

echoes in the hallway.

Five unfinished papers on the

Recession of the economy

One on the cruelty of bullying -

The cursor still blinking.

One towel dripping onto the linoleum floor in the bathroom –

steam still lingering in the corners of the mirror

One son

On a break from feeding and bathing his sick dad

not knowing the truth,

as so many of us don't,

that tomorrow his father will be hungry and dirty

and that's the only way he'll know

his son is dead.

And finally

One stranger -

the one you passed this morning

on the way to the subway

and when your eyes met, you looked away.

And you didn’t smile

You didn’t look up

For one second

that could have

would have

should have

changed everything.

But maybe it goes back farther than that

Back to the skinny boy with glasses and a Superman t-shirt

in the back of your third grade classroom

Being poked and pushed and spit on

and laughed at

And you didn’t look up

Not for one second.

And today

the same skinny boy

stomped on his glasses and tore up his shirt,

Loaded his gun and set the hatred in his eyes on fire

And now there are 32 dead in a field somewhere.

Thirty-two fragile gray graves

Scattered across the nation,

thawing out under the spring sun

most of them unable to reach each other

even now.