Land of the Free
Steve Wilson
May 28, 2022
Find comfort, children. You are free. Free
to cower in corners, under desks, in closets.
Free to paint yourself wounded with your best friend’s blood
so the shooter will think you are dead, too.
Free to reach ten years of age,
or eight years of age, or seven. No more.
Free to call the police who wait confused outside,
then whisper repeatedly for their help.
Free to run screaming from your elementary school –
AK15 shots echoing along the hallways.
Free to have your last photo taken at school –
you made the Honor Roll on the day you were shot.
Free to fear every day. Free to die
for the 2nd Amendment as if it is still 1797
and patriotic farmers wander the fields with their rusty muskets.
Free to hear the moans and rattling breaths of
dying classmates. Free to be someone’s dying classmate.
Free to be a bloody sacrifice to other people’s selfishness,
paranoia, cowardice, desire for power, insecurities.
Free to join the grim tableau of American carnage.
Free to be a target of revenge for perceived injustices.
Free to be the NRA’s little annoyance. Free
to avoid being “politicized.” Free to be forgotten,
or appropriated, or silenced, or a victim of “culture.”
Free to imagine violence. Free to fuel violence. Free
to embody violence. To wait and wait, but not be saved.
Steve Wilson's poems have appeared in journals and anthologies nationwide. He is the author of five poetry collections, the most recent entitled The Reaches. His next collection, Complicity, is due out in Spring 2023. He lives in San Marcos, TX.
