After the news they show
the pictures:
photographs of those who were
killed.
Their posed faces look serious and formal.
I try not to imagine
what they might have looked like when they died.
This used to be a time when I changed the channel,
watched a cartoon.
But tonight the silence hits me.
Because I know.
I know the twenty-six-year-old man
in the crisp blue uniform and white hat,
its brim shadowing his eyes,
is only one of thousands.
The silence never bothered me before.
Tonight it seems to scream.
I try to feel helpless and innocent—
to pretend I don’t know why.
But I know
it’s because now
I know.

by Charlotte Briggs
13 years old