I used to wonder how I'd be affected April 19, 1986
if someone barely older than myself
had died.
That there would be this awful gaping void
when you and I had never really met
or brushed within the crowded hall at noon?
If nobody today had let me know
why everything was chaos, or for whom
so many kids were crying, I would not
have noticed you were missing. And I still
can hardly feel the loss for disbelief...
there is no earthly way it can be true
that somewhere in the twilight yesterday
a plane went down, and with it took a boy
of fifteen that I never saw without
a smile to convey his love of life.
"You didn't even know him!" someone cried
to me; but, David, you are one of Us,
and so your death has happened to us all.
And whether it be me or one you loved,
may someone plant a flower on your grave
to bloom forever in your memory.
Copyright ©1999 by Erica Schultz Yakovetz. All rights reserved.
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