Sadness Sweetens
I couldn’t hear the bomb
but I felt it in my ears.
I felt it from helicopter blades,
from sirens close and far away,
from words of friends who stood
near the blast, and in the voices of
the bomber’s classmates who walk
past me on the way to high school.
I felt the fear that sent 9,000 police
after two boys with fireworks.
Three weeks later, I look down
at the spot of explosion. I find
no stain, no answer, no body.
A victim wheels his chair to
pose for family photos, a smile
for one leg, happy to be alive.
The Boston Library courtyard
meets my bike at the finish line
for gentle chat, tea, and writing,
and provides a brave friend
to provide the sympathy.
A sad thousand of shoe pairs,
tied by laces, hang on fences.
They are the strong. Visitors,
too polite to touch, watch
a race as it rises from dust.
Near the memorial sings
a choir of children, so soft.
Sadness sweetens the song.
