Pastel colored chalk from the dollar store
to write on the sidewalk as they talk about boys,
no school for two weeks and Christmas wish lists.
They are 12 year olds, middle schoolers, friends
together on a warm Saturday night in December.
Amiya's words unfinished.
Two young men tuck guns into low slung pants,
resting against their hip bones. They are high
on adrenaline and testosterone, anxious to settle
a feud with another 'hood. They jump into the car,
bullets cut through the air, until they pull away.
Amiya caught it as it flew, nameless,
she runs then drops, her blood slick on the grass.
A woman holds her as her breathing changes,
shallow, slow. Her friends cling to each other,
wet with tears; sirens and blue lights, even the police
off balance by the shooting of this young girl.
At the ER, she is pronounced,
her mother told her only child is dead.
Amiya's words blurred by rain,
bleached by sun, unfinished.
to write on the sidewalk as they talk about boys,
no school for two weeks and Christmas wish lists.
They are 12 year olds, middle schoolers, friends
together on a warm Saturday night in December.
Amiya's words unfinished.
Two young men tuck guns into low slung pants,
resting against their hip bones. They are high
on adrenaline and testosterone, anxious to settle
a feud with another 'hood. They jump into the car,
bullets cut through the air, until they pull away.
Amiya caught it as it flew, nameless,
she runs then drops, her blood slick on the grass.
A woman holds her as her breathing changes,
shallow, slow. Her friends cling to each other,
wet with tears; sirens and blue lights, even the police
off balance by the shooting of this young girl.
At the ER, she is pronounced,
her mother told her only child is dead.
Amiya's words blurred by rain,
bleached by sun, unfinished.
So very sad!
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