Poets Respond to the Uvalde Tragedy, Part 7
Aftermath, Uvalde
By Sarah Colby
The first thing she sees when she stumbles
through the back door is the refrigerator,
the one everyone in the family pitched in to buy
when they learned she was expecting her first baby.
Eleven years later it’s still running, plastered with pictures—
cousins, friends, Nana and Popi’s 50th anniversary, tubing the Nueces
for spring break—and a red and pink construction paper “Luv U Mom”
valentine. The last one she will ever get from her girl
who loved stickers, squishmallows, pop-its, friendship bracelets,
pizza, butterflies, her little brother. Her girl, who liked to spell
three-syllable words, bake cookies, tell silly jokes,
who took seriously the job of marking days on the calendar,
end of school circled in bright orange and sun rays,
first day of swimming lessons in deep blue.
She grabs a marker from the cup on the counter,
obliterates May 24 with thick black lines, then
yanks open the door,
feels nothing but cold.
I can absolutely picture this refrigerator and it’s many layers of meaning. Funny how our refrigerators have become a posting place that reflects our family’s personalities and our values. How fitting to invoke this place in the heart of the home when remembering the loved one – whose life was so tragically and needlessly taken. My heart aches for Uvalde and for all the grieving families. May our nation come to its senses. Please God!
Sarah’s poem uses telling details to describe the mother of a child shot in Uvalde. Devastating in its accuracy and poetic thrust. Love you Mom at the end was heartbreaking.
Your poems paint such a picture, Sarah. Bittersweet in this case. A common display in many homes. And one that reflects a child’s presence. Aftermath, indeed. My heart just breaks for the innocents and their families. I know I can’t possibly comprehend their grief. Your poem is a poignant tribute. Your words are imagery.
Beautiful poem!
This poem expressed the inexpressible. How can words describe what these parents are experiencing, knowing some may have been saved?
“yanks open the door,
feels nothing but cold” speaks to the finality of it all.
Thank you for this poem.
I can’t express, but I am choking trying not to cry yet again.