New Mexico Mercury

out of the dark water
comes a gun.  a gun I did not see
but heard less then 15 feet away
from me.

and a story falls out of the mirror.
lands in broken shards of what really
happened. 

and here is what the broken shards
and the dark water sing...

Colfax Ave, and Logan St..
Summer, curl your fingers around my hair.
let my hand sling around your waist.
past festivals and music played in Denver,
in Civic Center Park,

to the bus stop,

at Colfax and Logan.
the weather is perfect,
night upon all, waiting at the bus stop,
when a shot cries out, there amidst all,
a single shot fired,

from a small caliber handgun.

a small gun shouts throughout
the block, shouts,
“I’ve killed him!”

(how big is the voice of death?
do you hear it settle within you
as you are about to pass?)

the people flew, as pigeons
within the reach of a loud clap.
(clap.)
the bus pulled up, no people there
so the bus pulled away. 
and then He walked into Denver Drug & Liquor.
A small market, on the corner, where I had once
worked.

having been shot, He walked into the store.
now people are ahead of me, they are showing their
faces in the windows, looking into the store.
they know the story before I do.

I’ve been in the store the whole time.
chatting with the Ethiopian brothers.

the young man shot comes to me.
he asked for the phone.
“Why?” I ask,
he says, “I’ve been shot.”

I’d not known, I’d only heard the shot.
and upon the shot heard
I ran towards the doors.
people running away and I
turning toward,
and the Ethiopian brothers
who own and run the store
yelled,

“Hey Teddy, where are you going!?”

I stop, think in the quick of it,
that was a gunshot!
the brothers are right.
I should stop, and do.

then He
walked into the store,
was given the phone, he made one call,
to his sister or his girlfriend
maybe, it was his mom?

the murky water in that broken mirror
fallen from the wall is in him, he’s not
dialing 911.  he’s talking, telling a woman,
that he’s been shot, and he might not
make it home.   
there is a small spot
a nickel size spot
bleeding through his
shirt, a soft yellow,
on his back.

the spot is telling, it is burgundy.

he’s vomiting
a neon green/yellow
color I’ve never seen
in the 39 years,
since I’ve been alive.
I ask for paper towels,
and water.
I’m kneeling beside him,
he’s fallen out of a chair,

(newtown)

there is a woman,
a middle aged
black woman,
shouting from outside the liquor store
“keep him up, don’t let him go to sleep!”

(columbine)

I’m wiping the vomit
from his mouth.

the ambulance
is arriving, the siren screams
the remainder of people simply
disappear,
and amid chaos...
silence,

I do not yet realize,
I’m watching a man die.

and by the way,
what are these guns for? 
to protect and serve,
to protect, amid crazed man
in your home, amid the street,
amid make my day
stand your ground
defend yourself
by sword or gun?

the young man is dying.
he lays before me under
the fluorescent lights of a liquor store.

dying and soon to be dead.

but, what is death to a gun?
what is death to the person
that holds the gun?

what is vengeance?
what is war?
what is payback?

and this young man is dying.

he’s still before me.
still here, right now,
that young man is
dying.

(aurora)

they pull the shirt off his back.
I hear an officer speak,

“Well, it’s not the first time.”

bullet hole scars on his back.
it’s not the first time, but this time
this man knows, he’s going to die.

(newtown)

they didn’t know.

you never know.

the young man before me didn’t know.

and the EMT says to the driver,
“We have to go!”

it’s still warm out, night has shielded the rest.
it’s summer.  people have moved on to love,
or to share stories.

and I’m left with watching,
watching, time, the need to live,
guns, world war, drug deals gone bad.

your six yr. old daughter shot by a mad boy.

it’s just before Christmas.

and a Denver summer turns,
the young man is lifted onto a gurney,
is taken to the hospital, and is
announced dead upon arrival.

denial, death,
gravestones,
funerals.

how many dead?

how many shots need to be fired?

who’s keeping count?

denial,
of
too many guns
so many guns,
but not enough
to aid you against
a jet fighter.

a life of denial, broken shards,
mirror turned to view, the too many
guns.  broken mirror reflects too many
guns.

so many guns. 
you deny the sirens,
you deny the shots,
you deny, we deny,

as if denying the spring,
when the rain hits and
offers it’s vitality on us.
and we walk around
shaking it off,
like a dog hit by a hose.

open your eyes.
hold up your ears.

nobody wants
to take away your guns.
we only want to protect
our children’s lives.

no wish to surround your compound.
or, mind control.
you do not need an automatic weapon
to protect yourself from yourself.
for I am you and you are me.
we both, are trapped here,
dealing with whatever come
what may.

and haven’t the days been dark enough?
do not the slain children sing to you,
each night, and throughout the day,
don’t they sing to you?

and the young man dying
before me is dead and I
don’t know it!

and your daughter is dead,
your son is dead, shot in the head,
and it turns out, due to your
loss,
that it’s too late for laws,
and legislation.

they are beyond the crying walls,
and have no voice to vote.

don’t we belong to each,
as a leaf, a part of a tree.

and as the young man lays dying
before me
the tree
is burning.

and everything we hold dear
has been lost.

we are with the broken shards,
the broken mirror, with the
dark water, singing.

a warning,
with Newtown, within the scope
and vicinity, of Logan and Colfax.
within the reach of every and any
gun.

there is a warning song,
singing,
and ringing out through out
each day, and every second
that you take a breath.

and the song is singing,
along with the dark water,
and the shards,
the song is singing,
along with the broken
mirror,
singing, along with
the young man in the liquor store,
along with Newtown,
singing,
at the corner of
Colfax and Logan.

there is a young lady singing,
a ghost in the hallways
of our hearts,
and she is singing,
“why, did you let me die?”

there is a young man singing,
“why did you lie to me?”

there is a young boy,
another ghost, singing,
wondering, along in the night,
why his best friend was killed,
and he wanders the hallways
of our hearts, searching in vain.
not knowing he is dead too.

we have to fix this...
background check, triple check.
we all have to stop this...
this you want a gun
here you go kiddo,
go!

no.

when the earth shakes,
we pass laws for well built buildings.
when the water is found to be bad,
we pass laws for pure water.
when cat food is found to be bad,
we recall it.
when a car part fails, we recall it.
if you’re drunk and drive you lose
your license.

all the dead are singing,
the young along with the old,
are singing,

no more.