By Anna Trevathan, Managing Editor
why can it be only your dead,
when it is already only your living,
and it is already only your pain
you think the only people worth mourning
are the people who look and think like you
the men who yell for your cause-
who caused your causation.
you’ll never hear the cries of students
that you silence to sound the sirens-
for men who wouldn’t do the same for you.
i know every teardrop, soaked into my memory,
stapled into my soul, stories worth listening,
worth memorizing and regurgitating-
if you walk the footsteps of a stranger,
and listen to the words of your living
you’ll begin to learn from your dead.
