I open the box
of animal crackers
wondering
what they signify
to me.

I count them,
arrange them,
looking
at the different species
and broken pieces.

It is a writers’ prompt.
What do these crackers
represent?
What is their story?

I stare blankly,
waiting for inspiration
but all I can think of
are the forty nine
who died
at The Pulse
a gay nightclub
in Orlando.

Who were they?

I think of the nine that died
in Charleston,
the twenty six
in Sandy Hook.

I think of Columbine
and Aurora,
of San Bernadino
and Virginia tech.

Who were they?

I eat the animal crackers
remembering
the innocent days of my childhood
and those who were killed
because they were different;
because they were gay,
Latino,
black,
or simply
because they were in the right place
at the wrong time.

What if
every time
we ate
animal crackers,
or anything else
for that matter,
we remembered;
we remembered the victims,
the broken,
the grieving,
and those who sought
to bring love
and compassion
for everyone?

These are my animal crackers
broken for you.