By Sophia Larimore
-
I
remember
the
first time your bullets shot through my chest
the
smoking pages from your gunpowder and
you
walking through graveyards of children
whose
families told them to stay in the dirt and
me
drenching and blurring the pages
I
remember
seeing
the nurse carry out a mountain of books and
grabbing
for your words like a man finding an oasis
then
seeing
a
starving man next to me
him
looking at the feast like he could devour all
twenty-thousand
words in front of us
I
remember
me,
and him, and
the
slick cold tile
we
can't let them see
his
dried hands a dart on the floor
his
hands grab for the cream of
Robin
Wall Kimmer
her
soothing words becoming our vitamins
I
remember
the
elderly woman who was
unable
to sleep at 4 a.m.
breathing
your fire and
her
warm and at peace, asleep in a chair
I
remember,
also,
the starving queer girl next to me and
us
feasting on your
anger
love
tears
laughter
pain
I
remember
hope
About the
Author
Sophia Larimore, a journalism major at ICC, currently works for the school's newspaper, Harbinger Student Media, as the managing editor. They are also president of the school's Student Government Association (S.G.A.). Sophia enjoys attending open mic nights at the local bookstore Lit. on Fire Books and writing at the nonprofit organization, My Writing Shed.