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Hello.
In the wake of the Connecticut school shootings on Friday
I wrote a poem that I would like to share.
I think a lot of us have many different reactions to this tragedy: grief,
sorrow,
anger, outrage, shock, disbelief --
all of which are natural after a time like this.
I wanted to share my reaction.
My prayers go out to the victims and all those affected by the shooting.
I pray for comfort for you in the season,
whether it's from your personal deity, or whether it's from family and friends, or
maybe just someone on the end of the telephone line.
And
whatever god we worship, whatever traditions we celebrate,
I think
maybe because of this tragedy
we ought to remember
more about
peace on Earth and goodwill towards men,
love towards each other,
reaching out to each other,
not staying in our little self-centered worlds.
i pray also that whatever solution we decide to use to solve the problems of
gun violence, school shootings, etc. what believe whatever you want to call
it
I pray
that we are guided by
rational and clear thinking.
I also pray that whatever solution we come to
is preventative but yet the same time continues to honor the civil liberties
that we've come to cherish in this country.
I know amongst a lot of the shock and grief reactions I've seen online
some are suggesting greater gun control -- I'm not going touch that subject.
But some are suggesting measures
I do not agree with:
for example "lunatic profiling". People with odd or eccentric behavior
or people like myself
who are autistic
may end up getting targeted
in such measures and
that's not what should happen.
We should continue to respect and honor people's individualities and differences
and any measures of safety should have
the mindset of preserving liberty
because
it is never good to trade liberty for security.
And without further ado
I'll read my poem entitled "Candles".
Grief has stolen the words from my throat and I want to burn little candles
in their places.
Little white papers to take the place of every word purloined from my voice box,
white candles to stand as silent sentries for every morphine that refuses
to march up my tongue and out of my lips. Those words instead want to pull my tongue
backwards and curl up inside its rug for warmth and safety.
They want to duck behind my stained and crooked molars
out of sight from the open air and the wind that passes in and out of my mouth.
And because there is no sound from the dead,
i want to burn candles not just for every word but for every child.
White votives for every little one who was no match for a bullet.
Little tongues of flame to speak for them, to ask the questions of white and how because
those little voices
cut silent at their sources cannot ask them anymore.
Little white
rotund children of wax
to stand and burn for each little boy,
each little girl,
because those children cannot stand anymore.
And we cannot stand
anymore. We sit,
because at the fulcrums of our bodies where soul and solar plexus intersect,
there is disbelief that has pummeled itself fist-first into our drum-tight viscera and
and out sailor-knotted stomachs. We grab our stomachs and our hearts because that
ache
like slow burning pyres that were lit inside us while we glanced away, too
distracted to notice the young man with the gun.
And when sitting fails us,
we kneel.
We pray.
We keen and we wail.
We embrace each other
and ask questions between tears. For some of us
the questions linger in our wordless breath,
in staccato exhales ripping the air apart or punctuating it because we cannot
tolerate holding
the disbelief
inside our stomachs.
In time,
the interrogatives and angry demands thrown up in the air and borne aloft upon our grief
will fall back to Earth:
some with answers,
some not.
Why did he choose to shoot innocent people?
What was wrong with his mind?
Those questions
will drive fists into our minds and hearts like the disbelief that jackhammers
at our abdominal walls now.
But right now,
all i can think about is missing words,
little boys and girls,
and candles.
I shut my eyes and watch two dozen little flames dispel the void and
empty black
and pray
that no one ever decides that his or her anger is worth fistfuls of bullets
again.
Selah.
Let us each light our own candle.
Let us so shine our light before everyone: each of us, every little
tongue of flame, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant we think it is.
Let us
let our tongues of flame keep burning
and light up the world
and dispel the darkness.
My name is Nicole Nicholson, and thank you for listening.