by Rebecca Norton-Baker
It’s 11th grade
Second block
Biology
Crouched in the corner
Door locked
Lights off
None of us are worried
Waiting for three all clears on the speakers
But still
What if this is real
How would we react
But it doesn’t really matter
It was just a drill
It’s 3rd grade
In PE
Except we aren’t playing
Sitting in the gym closet
Next to all the equipment
Muffled laughs and light-up shoes
We didn’t really know what a lockdown was at that age
We never deserved to know
No one ever does
But it was ok
It was just a drill
It’s kindergarten
End of the day
A staff member interrupts right after recess
Whispers to our teacher
We all line up outside
The whole school
Gathered in the field
It’s hot
It’s humid
I missed my gymnastics practice
Standing out there for hours
Because of a note
Left in the kindergarten bathroom
A bomb threat
Was it just a drill?
There are 365 days in a year
Today marks day 267 of my junior year
But 975 is a different number
It’s the number of deaths
Teen deaths
In mass shootings
This year
And
237
The number of kids’ deaths
Their lives draped over the hand holding the gun
All taken
In mass shootings
This year
This country
For them it wasn’t a drill
It wasn’t a normal day
At school
Or with friends
Or anywhere
There have been more deaths than days
Many more
So many more
And so many lives turned into a number
But
I have to ask
I really have to ask
Is 1,121 not enough to make a change
A change to our loose laws
Because it can happen here
It will happen here
Some time
Eventually
Should backpacks be filled with bulletproof panels
Like vests of the military
To deflect a gunman’s bullets
Should our schools be built with curved halls
Zig-zag patterns
Like the trails in trenches
To disrupt a gunman’s path
Should our children be taught that they have to survive
Not live
How much blood will be enough
How many tears will it take
How loud must our screams be for you to hear
Must blood be the ink you use to write the laws
But sure
Offer thoughts and prayers
I’m sure they’ll save us all
Because when it’s not a drill
I'm sure they’ll save us all
And
I'm sure the walls will stop the bullets
And the bulletproof backpacks will stop the bullets
But it makes me wonder
Do you think
I’ll be a statistic when I die