[I wrote this just after the shooting in June, but couldn’t bring myself to post it until now]
Grief cannot undo this
Cannot pick the bullets from their bodies.
I keep thinking of who wiped their blood
From the walls and floor of that
Temple and how they brought themselves to do so.
I imagine the wounded begging of the doctors
As their bullet holes were managed.
Nothing’s going to bleach the blood from their memory.
The sacrilege of bodies, and that place that only intended love