I walk this linear path,
A patch of sidewalk heading towards the library.
Seats line the walkway,
Their shadows sit beside me.
Never again will their footsteps join mine,
nor sit at their desks.
Our campus created this space for them,
And their families mourn.
A shadowed figure dips his head,
Never again to see his friends.
I glance at them as I continue on my way,
My heart is a boulder keeping me to this grassy field.
I take a photo as if to whisper,
"I will remember you."
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from AnnaMarie Jenema and writers in Poets and other communities.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.