veni vidi flevi

There is a light at the end of this long distant tunnel and her name is Caroline.

Her eyes are very brown. There is very little the world could do

to take her away from you 

When she laughs she bends flight attendants to her will like a backwards flower, tiny and 

protected. Even after seventeen rainy days in a row, 

there she is, smiling at you from the other side of the glass, tiny fingertips dented. 

There is a mass shooting half an hour away from your nice 

suburban home, white picket fence, 

when Caroline is six. Nobody you know is hurt. Still,

you sit her down and tell her about things and people that die.

Sending her to school every day is the hardest thing you have ever had to do including putting down that knife when you were twenty-three, so it seems unfair that it repeats.

Places that are not safe: The mall. School. Public places.

The library. Walmart. Anywhere with people. Anywhere without people.

Concerts. College. A restaurant. Any neighborhood. Still, getting shot with cold lead that explodes is something that happens to other people. 

When you were twenty-three

there was a promise of Caroline at the end of the tunnel that is now empty.

F**k all this wind, f**k all the Nazis, is there a place 

a candle can survive anymore?

Sending her to school is the second hardest thing you have ever had to do behind burying her. You know, you used to be able to attribute these things to God.

There is a white house. A picket fence. A Bible. A gun. 

Your daughter is a psyop by the government and her classmates paid actors, cause

F**k you, I guess, cause f**k you and the life you thought you could have.