…meanwhile…in Roanoke, Virginia…  

As the initial shock of the senseless murders of two journalists fades, I had hoped this weekend would be like any other. I have a cake to bake and gifts to wrap in celebration of my grandson’s 5th year on this planet. But I can’t get past the senselessness of this most recent act by a mentally deranged madman because it happened to my community. And I admit I feel guilty for not feeling equally as shocked and upset when it happened to others.  Especially when there are things that can and should be done. Other civilized nations have figured it out. Why are we struggling to figure it out? Maybe I’m not meant to get over it. Perhaps my calling now is to join the voices from other communities in the hope that we will eventually reach a critical tipping point as we all demand “enough!”

Poetry helps me express my deepest feelings. I’ll let this verse be my final lament…

this page of our
collective story stings
from drops of salty
tears, rivulets of ink
collide, muddling
the truth…
but soon enough
another page will
manifest in dreadful
déjà vu, the
folly of our dense
forgetfulness
exposed.
some memories
refuse to die,
each tear stained
page a conscience
cue, to summon
us to write our
denouement,
it’s up to us to
right this grisly
narrative, to seize
control from witless
forgers once for all
to simply pen
“enough”.

kat 29 aug 2015