Their eyes filled with nothing,
their bodies filled with air.
I pretended to give them
a life they lacked. My life.
But isn’t that what good
little girls do?
Shouldn’t that prepare me –
for what?
I should have lined them up
and shot them.
But I didn’t have a gun.
Or the imagination.
I sacrificed that
on the altar
of good.
inspired by “The Breathing, The Endless News” by Rita Dove
published in Write Under the Moon
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