Originally posted at The Tangled Branch.

This is probably a couple of poems but I need to get this out and off of my chest or I'll end up burying it. My mind is all over the map but as writing does, I'm compelled to push this through.

Last November's Borderline Bar shooting was less than 25 miles from home and 11 miles from our son's college. This November's high school shooting in Saugus, California was six blocks from where I lived with my aunt and uncle for a few months until I could find a place to live where I went to high school in Fillmore. My cousin, Sis graduated from Saugus High School. This shooting less than 35 miles away. These mass shootings are frequent and too close to home.

I'm still processing so the following is somewhat scattered.


November's Bones

Obstructed breath
as Autumn blows in with a bang,
turning leaves.
November 7th, one year ago,
22 miles south, where flocks of birds flee
to escape Winter's bones

College night at Borderline Bar
21 to 26-year-old students
at an age of self-discovery
gather for a night of honkytonk
and two-step boot-stomping

Gunman opens fire
wounding twelve, murdering eleven.
One police officer killed by friendly fire.
The final act of cowardice,
the perpetrator's self-inflicted fatal shot.

The commotion gets lost in the news
as it strikes
a few hours before one of the deadliest wildfires
in California history.

Early this morning, 30 miles East,
a schoolyard bustling
with teenaged kids,
where death lays in bullets.

On his 16th birthday,
a "Quiet boy"  pulls from his backpack
a hand full of doom.
   
In 16 seconds
injures three,
kills two,
shoots himself in the head
and lies gravely injured.

Mourners gather in pews
and search for answers
incomprehensible.

A 14-year-old boy,
identity unknown
and 15-year-old Grace Anne Muehlberger,
will not turn in last night's homework assignments
or graduate to the next stage of life.
Their report cards do not matter now.

Parents compelled
to send their children to school
will not see their love
and encouragement come to fruition,
never hug their children's necks,
see their smiles,
or hear their child's laughter.
Hopes, dreams, and expectations silenced.

From golden yellow, orange
blood-red leaves diminish
and bleed to brown
during another traumatic November

Wildfire atoms float
on parched air
as autumn blows in with a bang.

Putrid taste scorches your throat
while birds fly South.

These birds will never fly -
unable to escape winter's bones.


~Deb
14 November 2019