SandScript 2020

December 14, 2012
Emily Gill
POETRY
A boy I knew told me
the bullets from an automatic weapon
sound like a jackhammer against
the wall. He said that’s how you know
it’s happening.
I don’t go to the movies anymore.
It used to be my favorite place;
a quiet dark theater, a way to lose myself in
another world. Now it makes me feel trapped
despite the blinking red exit signs.
The idea lingers
in the back of my mind,
always. I have not felt safe
since December 14, 2012.
Two hours later, my teacher
telling us of six-year olds murdered
in their elementary school classrooms.
I went home and cried.
What are my tears, compared
to theirs? I see teenagers on television,
first demanding, then begging
for change. No one does a thing.
I want to scream, but why
should my screams matter
when theirs didn’t?
The stories keep coming. This time
a high school, an airport, a concert,
a church even. I am angry.
I am sorry, sorry I can’t stop this,
sorry money matters more
than the lives of children.
I remember, being in school,
we read a story in English class:
Suffer The Little Children by Stephen King.
I don’t go to the movies anymore.
I’ve tried, but instead of the film
on screen, all I see is blood.
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