Good Morning and Goodnight [An ode to Regulations on Right to Firearms]

A normal day in which children are sent to school, their “safe haven,” overturns into bitter departure for those who fell victim to a school shooting.

“Good morning sunshine,” 

One mother sings 

“Who knows what this sweet day will bring”   

She snuggles you swiftly

How she does with such care 

Blissfully unknowing 

Foreign to the idea that in hours-worth time you will no longer be there 


She fixes you breakfast, eggs sunny-side up 

She pours you a sugary creme in your favorite pink cup

She paints a slice of bread with cherry-red jam, 

“Perhaps this will do for your snack today, my little lamb.”  

She sweeps through your hair and sews it intricately into a bow 

She nestles you neatly in your lilac overthrow 

Her fingers interlock with yours, as she guides you to the door 

“You are all ready for school,” she sings in sweet whispers 

Unbeknownst to the fact that your departure would be forever and more  

Some hours later, one mother would fall to her knees, 

Abandoning the phone which wailed and wept 

And bellowed and brawled a bitter lullaby  

It was her daughter, the operator cried, her daughter who fell victim to the shamefully-motivated seize 

It was a loss which she could not fathom, 

A grave theft of shining bright light 

Her little lamb would no longer return 

The little lamb that she would nestle oh so tight  

Come evening, one mother would pick herself up off the ground 

Tip-toeing sloppily to the room in which her daughter could no longer be found 

She sinks into the paint-stained carpet, where she would interlock her fingers with a premature handprint 

“Goodnight sunshine,” 

One mother weeps 

“Who knows what this bitter day will bring,”

“I will forever snuggle you swiftly, how I do with such care,”  

Incapable of fathoming the fact that you are no longer there 

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