The students put up these signs in front of the building
where yesterday, one of them fell to their death
from the eighth floor.
The signs are lettered using their own hands, fingers
curled around markers.
They tape them up on the glass panes
and you can see every finger smudge.
The signs are unafraid of using words
like suicide instead of incident.
Like accountability. And care, community, humanity.
They are composed on the spot, fueled by feeling,
by anger, by sadness, by fear, by frustration.
Nothing a machine would understand enough
to generate something real.
Something not immediately trying to isolate
and contain.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
I really like this poem!!!