Songs of the Soul

Alyssa, Sofia, and Brenda

For ASB, my friends and angels

Flowers at the Bell

Empty chairs at empty desks
Silence drowning in the hall
A locker slams: the noise offends

This must be just a dream
Nothing concrete, nothing real
But the tears, they beg to differ

A checkerboard of teenagers
All standing in a crowd
Wind sweeps away the words
As we lay flowers at the bell

Doors open, doors shut
Pink balloons out front
Newscasters like vultures
Each one waiting for the kill
But it's too late.

They're already gone.

Gone in a crash, a lightning flash
Car marks on asphalt.

And now we stare at empty pictures
Cry and wonder why
Why would he, how could he, no, why?

All of us a mess
All of us in tears
All of us in rows
Black and white flowers in rows
Watered by shock

This is all just a dream
Nothing truly real
But the tears beg to differ

A church filled and spilling
Roads closed off
Three pink boxes

And eighteen pallbearers wiping their eyes
As they heave
As they cry

The procession to the cemetery
A mile long
Trailing in dust that clings to the flowers
At the holes

And at the bell
The flowers are gone.

A checkerboard, a community
All stood in a crowd
Wind swept away the words
As we laid flowers at the bell.