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NEW ENGLAND WINTER DARKNESS
Still, night is not supposed to fall at 7:20 in
the morning, even here.
A boy is not supposed to die as he begins
his school day.
Kids sitting a floor below ought not
to hear cries of anguish, nor
should gravity collapse in a new time-
zone, on an unknown continent, we once
called B Building.
Trance-like, we walked down once familiar hallways.
Whoever sat next to you became your best friend,
students...teachers, it didn't matter.
The seas within us began to rise.
Eons clipped by in seconds. Each hug
recreated the gravitational field. Worlds
began to cohere. The beautiful words
of students threw stars back into
our sky, a moon, a warming sun.
"I love L-S," I heard one say. Then two. Then three.
They understood the universe had changed, that
a Friday in January now circled in
permanent orbit, but they also knew
this was still their home, a Milky Way
of luminous places, green as earth, or
great-hearted and tender-souled as
a school.
After the murder of a student
at Lincoln-Sudbury
January 25, 2007