On the planes, they call people:
Their spouses, their mothers, their children
Because people, in the end, in the terror
Are what we hope they are
Just love
And I sat in art class
Fourth grade
When my teacher told me what happened
And that nothing would ever be the same
Old enough to think
My dad was at home
Not flying
I have never allowed myself to be afraid of airplanes
How could I?
When the running memoirs inevitably
Tell their stories about the Boston Marathon
— In 2013
Just down the street from me —
I cry, ugly and full
While running down the road
The week after
I ran around the Esplanade
And saw bombs exploding everywhere
Though they weren’t
Though it was over
2,977 people
4 people
And today,
192,000 deaths
And counting
When, I wonder, will there be memorials built for this
After the world is done burning, the sky on fire
After the guns run out of shots, our police (and us, us, us) run out of hate
Or maybe after we are done eating our restaurant dinner
Pretending it’s over by scratching the names into stone
Before we head to the movies
With Love,
Natalie