The Things We Carry

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Turned on the news today like any other day
ready to bypass all bullshit and read about the latest political outrage.
Instead, I saw the tv rain tears, piercing the screen from the eyes of the distraught;
starting from the lowest point, the poorest place in the Western hemisphere.
I turned the tv off.
I got online to blog and clear my mind.
Up popped the BBC reel, over 50,000 dead
many more buried under the remnants of the city.
I stared, unable to turn away as they yelled “Why God?,” “Why Us?”
sifting through the dirt and rubble, the rot of walking dead in a place once so alive.
I turned on music, but even that couldn’t drown out the cries presently piercing not my ears but my soul.
Saying do something. Anything. I turned the music off.
I took a walk to get away but realized grief hangs around wherever you go, taking a liking to nomads.
It leaves rooms untidy, words unspoken, service not given and family unaccounted for.
I tried so hard to tune it all out when all I needed to do was care.

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