I heard the minute I turned on the radio
the coverage, with no facts yet established,
repeated over and over again.
Without details, the story, as empty as the classrooms
after the children, eyes closed, left the building.
The police went round and round the neighborhood with dogs
seeking potential secondary threats.
The radio circled over and over again
around the story, empty of details, full of unspoken pain.
Guests and experts talked about the profiles of those who are “shooters”,
asking what has been accomplished toward the prevention of what has already happened… again.
As if somehow all their words might lessen the pain.
As if information, or distraction, or any sound, would be somehow preferable,
to the stricken cries of parents whose children are gone.
Reporters spoke to children and parents, whose children had survived,
scaring the emptiness, pushing into secured spaces,
where tears and grief grief and horror continued undiminished, despite their invasion.
I sent my heart, wordlessly, tearfully, silently to join them.