3:31 p.m.
October 17th
Partly cloudy
Chance of rain
A middle class suburb
The houses are quiet
Birds chirp
Bikes sprawled out on driveways
Skateboards tossed in the bushes
Roller blades sitting on the porch
The televisions are off
Playstation controllers on the floor
Cell phones on their chargers
Unplugged from the wall
Beds neatly made
Homework done

One hundred children stand in the street
Hand in hand in hand
Blue jeans on
Tags ripped off
White tees on
Tags ripped out
Look up at the spying sun
Black skin melts to brown
Brown melts to yellow
Yellow to red to white
To pure
A rainbow of culture
Hand in hand they chant
“Cry..”
They breathe in unison and sway left to right
“Cry...”
“Cry...”
Hearts beat to the wings of a sparrow
Bodies sway to the tune of the leaves
“Cry...”
Eyes widen as they smile
Some squint as they laugh and chant
“Cry...”
For the beauty of the sunrise
“Cry...”
For the sound of a lover’s laugh
“Cry...”
For the baby in the womb
Whose mother will not make it
“Cry...”
For the daughter to a fallen father
“Cry...”
For the son of a killer
Who will never live down his heritage
“Cry...”
For the boy with the most important
Novel of the century
In his head but will snort it away
“Cry...”
For the mother whose children were murdered
While playing in the yard
“Cry...”
For the starving refugees
With distended bellies and bulging eyes
“Cry...”

The children close in to form a circle
Connect to become whole
Dropping to their knees
Lying their heads and hands on the asphalt

“Cry...”
“Cry...”
“Cry...”