My Body Lays at the Bottom of Stairs, But Oh, How My Mind Wanders

A bullet bounces off hardwood

and cracks into a top stair. Then

it taps the next step,

Clink.

Children huddle in closets

of their darkened classroom

while the teacher leans against

the door between them. They

pass out box cutters arming

themselves as faint pops and

metal taps on the ground lead

down the hall to their room,

Clink.

A father’s threat of escape is

muttered under breath loading

the next shot of a rifle which

sits stiff in his lap. His daughter

weeps in the basement. A

handful of cold cement will

never replace the warmth

of his hug against her skin,

Clink.

A mother pops clips out of

handguns sprawled across a

yellowed mattress. She dumps

the bullets and rips another

out of each chamber before

throwing the parts under

the bed. Her husband is

breaking down the door,

Clink.

The bullet on the landing;

it scrapes, rolls,

hits my foot, and stops

Clink.