TRIGGERED

I was seventeen on that winter night
I was wearing my yellow flannel nightgown
laying on the floor upstairs with my mom
with our ears pressed against the vent
so we could hear them talking

a man was in our kitchen
he said he was going to kill me
he thought it would solve his problems
he had a loaded shotgun

my mom whispered “RUN!”

I flew out the front door wild-eyed
running down the middle of the road
feeling the cold snow on my bare feet
grateful for the street lights

I ran about a half mile
to the hotel where my boyfriend worked
the bottom hem of my nightgown
was coated with ice chunks
I was shivering with no coat
Keith got me a blanket
the staff called the police
— but the police already knew

they fetched me
they took my statement
they drove me home

the man was in custody
headed to the psych ward for evaluation

there was no violence
there was a gun
that was enough to change me forever

AMERICAN MYTHOLOGY

No horse
but his silhouette was unmistakable
classic cowboy in his white hat
chaps, boots, and 
a gun he named “Independence”

he’s here to save us
our families
our religion
our freedom
from the socialized fears that terrify us

at first those fears looked like Indians
then browner and blacker

sometimes they look like children

COLOR BLIND

The one with the glasses named Tess
reminds me of Lilly’s best friend
I feel a lump in my throat

the boy named Rojelio reminds me of
the boy who came to her birthday party
my eyes well with tears

the one in the middle of the second row
looks like my granddaughter
and I sob

at the bottom there are five silhouettes
all grey waiting for the names

what was it about those children?
how could you kill them?

maybe that’s how you saw them
all grey without a name

WATCHING

A half century ago
I watched the protests on TV
wondering what led
men to violence
and I felt their despair

in recent years
I watched mass shootings
wondering who led
men to violence
and I learned their names

and now, I am old
knowing too well
the machinations
of power and greed
served by violence
I stopped wondering
and I am terrified

BLOOD-STAINED MATH

19 killed and 22 wounded in a school this week
27 school shootings already this year
214 mass shootings so far this year
3,500 mass shootings since Sandy Hook
20 million AR-15’s in the U.S.

84% of voters support background checks
77% of Republicans support background checks
5 Republican senators
willing to consider background checks

U.S. is 4.4% of the earth’s population
we hold almost half of the world’s guns

our children are prey
the ones that survive
will testify against us

SHOOTING SPREE

(Apologies to Dr. Seuss)

Guns in drawers
guns in purses
guns for farmers
guns for nurses

guns in cabinets
(oops! failed to lock it)
then there’s this gun
in my pocket

it’s on your hip so you are feared
though you look a little weird
unless of course you grow a beard
in which case you will be jeered

pastor wants a standard glock
one that will protect his flock

angie wants a lightweight ruger
grandpa says that she’s a cougar

smith & wesson is the pick
of her X-boyfriend — he’s a dick

some like shotguns
some like colts
remingtons give
quite a jolt

guns can be oh so much fun
as we wait to shoot someone

GUN BUYING TIP

Sometimes I still want a gun
I’m afraid someone will kill me

but mostly I abhor the idea
I’m afraid I will kill someone

how much danger would I have to feel
before pulling a trigger

what if I was mistaken
and his children were fatherless
and his wife crumpled in grief
because of my fear

or if he only wanted the $20 in my purse
surely his life is worth more

or she needs to steal my car
to flee a crazed drug addict
I will probably get my car back

there is no enemy uniform
how could one be expected to decide so fast
to end a life in an instant with a twitch of my finger

I abhor the idea
I will wait
I will buy a gun once I’ve decided who to kill

GUN CONTROL LOBBYISTS

We wanted our little girls to respect
the destructive power of guns
so we forbade them as toys

they complied
with the exception
of the occasional index finger
shooting imaginary bullets
of slime or lightning or fire

they found other ways
to kill each other
pricker bombs
electrocution
The Bone Crusher
drowning in lava

I’m not sure what we accomplished
but after some close calls with
The Pit of Poop
I believe they both would
support background checks

AFTERMATH

There is no name
for that low wailing sound
of horror and loss
blood-soaked with questions
Was she scared?
Was she crying?
Did she yell for us?
Who took her from us?
Why?
It makes no sense

There is no name
for this empty air
that stops feeding your breath
leaving you gasping
for a life you had minutes ago
gasping as you realize
you will never again
hear her laugh
braid her hair
tuck her into bed

There is no name
for heroic mothers
that climbed fences and braved gunfire
to rescue their children

There is no name
for teachers who stood firm
while police stood down

There is no name
for the outpouring of love and kindness
from across the world

tomorrow we move on
but they don’t
ever

and we keep moving on
until it is our child
and suddenly
the air is empty

children killed again
on their tombstones may we write
these are the last ones

I HOPE YOU WRITE A POEM FOR SOMEONE YOU LOVE