Poem: I Tell My Brother There Was A Shooting

I Tell My Brother There Was A Shooting

"Another one?"  He asks
how many are dead
and I do not know.
"They have not said,
are checking each floor."
He sighs, "this is it, now,
each week 
there will be another."
He tells me he is afraid,
does not trust the world.
I have felt that way,
I tell him.  I feel it,
have felt it.
It is, I think
part of what it means
to be an American.
We are those people,
we are this nation:
the ones who die
and the ones who kill.

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