Students in a Dallas school district must wear clear backpacks after Uvalde shooting.
—NPR, July 19, 2022
Is it enough to say
I’m rooting for you, though I was
never a cheerleader. Enough to say
I’m thinking of you, like a Hallmark card.
Is it enough to say my whole school
had to evacuate, shiver for hours
in the bleachers. She did it on a dare.
Her name was Bonnie, freshman calling in
a bomb scare. Is it enough
my brother cracked like a windshield
and became a stranger. That was
the year I forgot how to feel. The year
of leather drawstring purses girls carried
like dark planets. Tampons, lip gloss,
gum, cigarettes. Numbness,
my secret crush. Listen to me
blather on. I would have written sooner
but I didn’t know what to say.
And now it’s December.
Is it enough I see sunrise
reflected in my car window,
and silhouetted there,
the bare branches of trees,
still carrying their dose of night?
