We retreated to separate continents
with our grief. The energy
of motion still lodged beneath
our tongues, having found it
to be a home as good as any.
How long does it take to forget
or replace? Before memory is
the only antidote to metal?
I mean to ask if you would wish
for two more children to spit forth
sharp-jawed and perishable,
would forget so quickly
the tires that rolled beneath us,
ambulance hallowed and siren-less.
There is no rush. We have all the time
destruction could possibly take.
The wolves outside baying for flesh
are not the most blood-hungry creatures
for miles. I will not watch, I will not watch,
I will not watch. And after?
Will you remember each divot
in the linoleum? Will you remember
the sound of silence,
of implacable emptiness?
Nikki Velletri is a high school student from Massachusetts. Her work has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and can be found in Words Dance.