Tragedy Pt. 1

how tragic.

It’s so tragic.

We call it.

Sometimes she.

Sometimes day.

“9/11 was tragic”

sometimes insignificant.

“The Warrior’s loss was tragic”

Well they’re damn right.

 

Shakespeare understood tragedy.

violent, within, no end.

What you can’t see because it remains unnamed.

The shapes we reshape within

waves of tragedy

 

Her outfit was tragic,

what about her heart

 

Why do we wait for tragedy to happen to us?

A defining moment turned sour.

With our predisposed presuppositions we prepare unprepared.

“People think they’re so smart- it’s tragic”

 

I don’t think I’m smart. I know this to be true.

That’s tragic.

 

The truth is, at the very least,

she held my hands but not her own.

full of s a d n e s s but we don’t c r y

tragic.

 

Can we be tragic?

Just for tonight.

I am- I am although some would believe otherwise.

 

The water rushes in, destroying, separating- houses family friends-

but I am flooded by my own screams, drowning the truth in my throat from escaping my parched lips

only gasps break free- br e a th e

“You’ve just experienced

great tragedy-

when my grandma died

when I saw the color of my skin

when I tie a knot where my hair used to be

when the space between my parents in the photograph became reality

                             and reality a memory

when Coal became nothing but ashes.

I finally cried.

 

Tragic.