Tonight at the Uvalde Vigil

A woman read their names tonight at the vigil
She was a Spanish speaker, you could tell because
her accent was beautiful, caressing, shape-filled
up to the branches of the trees

Twenty-one volunteers stood in a circle
each holding a large photo just brought from the print shop
of one of the children who was murdered
The two teachers’ pictures stood side by side, shepherding

One of the sign-holders turned to me, asking
would I hold her sign so she could leave with her daughter
and I said no, I don’t want to be in the front row of mourners
it is not my place, my place is here, here, but not in front

That’s what I thought but I knew if I held the picture
of a murdered girl in Texas, I would crush it to my chest
We are, us mothers, our whole lives, living, waiting
just inches away from the abyss that hides itself with joy

Instead, I watched a man from the neighborhood
teach his little girl to ride a bike with training wheels
while his littler girl peddled her tricycle all around
the park where we were having a vigil for dead children and what was left of ourselves.