In Memoriam: A Moment for Those Lost to Flight 17



The Luggage at the Crash Site

There were sunflowers in a field

Just beyond the crash site

Where the red white and blue of the plane

Reminded us just how far we have to travel



The air was still and on fire

As workers

extinguished the flames of the distinguished

AIDS activists


Infants yet to make their mark on the world



The sunflowers watched from their place

just a bit beyond

Reminding us that no matter how many planes we fly

Or mountains we traverse

If we can’t stand still with each other

It doesn’t matter where we go.


It’s easy to say tragedy

Isn’t it

A word that rolls that doesn’t require so much as a parting of the lips

When in fact tragedy parts the skies

When people end up part and piece of what they could have been

Because we still can’t get along.


The luggage at the crash site

Was so much more than pink rolling suitcases

And yellow carry-ons

And teddy bears with no more arms.


The luggage at the crash site is the hate we carry. Still.


But then there are the sunflowers on the hill.



inspired by: Washington Post article featuring photo by Dominique Faget/AFP/Getty Images

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