March

"I don't know why we're making such
a big deal," he said Monday, his gray
baseball cap a cloud covering his fear.
We left in bunches, our eyes tracing
the lines in the carpet.
Gray lines.

We give sympathetic grins, searching
in each other's faces for wisdom and
goodness. All I see is a blur: a blur
of families huddling as if to stay warm,
a blur of friends holding hands, praying.
I want to see in your face a reason--
Why?

We make a big deal because they were
classmates, teammates, brothers, and friends.

We make a big deal because people
love them, just as people love you.

The gray lines envelop our time,
each line a memory of a smiling face
that greeted us everyday in the hall,
in class, or in the field.
A gray line, a blade that punctures
our denial and blurs our vision.
Gray lines.

We give sympathetic grins, searching in each
other's faces for wisdom and goodness,
and I see goodness in every one of you--
your hearts are lead in the soles of your shoes;
your voices, your throats, raw from so much song;
you make a big deal because they are
classmates, teammates, brothers, and friends.

You make a big deal because they are you.

And your ache,
it will blur; it will fade.
because there is light pouring in
from a distance, from it, warm hands
emerging for you, cradling your soft,
tired frame, rubbing your eyes with careful fingers until wisdom and goodness
are all that you see.

And with a whisper, your fear is uncovered

and you are free.