She said the walls always
Seemed to march towards her,
Closing in, squeezing, until she
Couldn’t breathe.
Her eyes pressed shut, and her
Hands didn’t know what to do with
Themselves. I tried to comfort her,
But it was useless.
It seems to me that no matter how
Small a space is, God fills the air and
The very walls, living in the fears we
Perceive all around.
My touch was cold on her stressed skin,
But God’s is gentle, everlasting, like
Laundry fresh from the dryer, warm
And comforting.

Did the mouths open wide,
Leaving lasting screeches
Into the bullet-swept air—
Birds singing sorrowfully
On their breaking perch?
Or were their lips pinched
Closed, knowing their loved
Ones were too far to hear
Them call? So many bodies,
Silent, as if they were set
There like stage props.