Are you a weathered post supporting more weight than any trespasser has a right to expect? What is the last feeling of the bygone era, the last first-person blessing or curse to be landed against a too well-known opponent? Mom, does the emptiness of loss cast a sidelong knowing-sort-of glance, a nod of recognition even, before he pulls away yet another rug?
Fifty-two dead. Fifty-two dead from one family. How can this happen? The number! 52! And it’s thousands, millions when you put us all together. Cities of dead. Families of dead. Unborn children. Fifty-two dead in my family, their not-breath filling the wind that cuts my cheek, not-lit candles at holiday dinners, non-hugs from grandmas and [...]