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Sandy Hook

My own grief so sharp for children I don’t know

whose parents I’ve never seen, never met.

What to do with it, where to place it, how

to dislodge it, crouching in some tight corner,

from my body?  It will not be removed.

I wander directionless, hungry like everyone

for the why as if knowing why would somehow soothe,

knowing it won’t and knowing too that there is no why.

A pall has settled over us all and I do not know how

or why a wise man might say to this

I don’t mind what happens

as if all that might happen is

a poorly timed thunderstorm, flat tire,

cancelled flight and not, for example,

a life cancelled or twenty or twenty seven.

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