(*Be forewarned, this is a shift from the usual post. On December 14, 1992 there was a shooting on the campus of Simon’s Rock College of Bard. A professor and student died, four others (my son included) were seriously wounded. Twenty years to the day later, in Connecticut 26 people died in a shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Since then there have been so many, many other mass shootings in our country. This is in honor of all the victims, alive and departed.)
— In memory of Galen Gibson and Nacunan Saez, victims of a greater insanity, December 14, 1992
It was a night much like this but for a quarter century’s slow elapse. It was a place much like this resting beneath freshly fallen snow. The solution is quite simple He wrote, we need only round them up, ship them to the desert. If AIDS doesn’t take them in ten years, we can finish the job then.
It was a night much like this His “then” has come but there is no job left for Him to finish He offered them up as a sacrifice to His god Tonight they have no body to offer to our tongues, no blood for our lips. We have only settled ground of barren altars outside Buenos Aires, in a snow shrouded Gloucester. We have no icons through which to channel our prayer save the flattened lead slugs the earth rejects.
It was a night much like this but Galen’s blood no longer stains the snow piled along side the library door, there are no shards of windshield, bits of skull where Nacuñan looked momentarily into His eyes. There is no blood tonight on the stairs to my son’s apartment nor on the dormitory stairs he limped that night to escape what he could not see his legs rejecting him.
It was a night much like this one but the walls are bare there are no gurneys pressed against the wall, gurneys I needed to believe, convinced myself, were starched sheet covered supplies.