The numbers change in the morning,
Growing like weeds in sunlight.
They always rise because
The human body is not meant to heal from metal.
The ripples will carry far and wide,
Just as the women felt them after California,
Just as the runners felt them after Boston,
Just as the children felt them in Colorado, Parkland, Connecticut.
Just as the religions felt them after New Zealand, Wisconsin, Pittsburg.
The echoes are louder than the canyons we scream into,
Louder than the unanswered phones laying beside the bodies
As friends and family call to ask,
“Are you safe?”
We know the answer,
Nowhere is safe.
The lists grow as the casualties rise.
We could make mountains out of bodies at this point.
And you sit here and tell me,
“It’s not my place to get involved,
Not my place to speak up.”
And I wonder,
When the come for you,
Because they will,
Will you still be sitting down?