A brisk wind blows across a plain
of pitted concrete cracked and stained
with pen ink and broken dreams
and whispers of forgotten things.
I know as I wait in the open, the door
of the school I've been in, a thousand times before
that my goosebumps are fueled by the hush
of silence, foreign to the morning rush.
There must be something wrong today
It's the moment of silence, but students have stayed
with their hands clasped in grim petition
to any god they think will listen.
My eyes slide across the room
surely one of their heads will soon
lift so I can ask what grief has caused
an entire high school day to pause.
But no answer comes and no head sways
and I know this must be a tragic day
so I clasp my hands tightly together
bow my head and think about the weather.
