Ariana Grande is the cousin of a close friend. Last night, for a few awful minutes, my friend’s phone blew up with family members needing reassurance that she was alright and safely out of Manchester Arena. She was, but there are some families in mourning today and some clustered around hospital beds. It’s awful, of course. There are awful things in the world; things we see, and things hidden away. Many of my friends are mourning for little faces they don’t know, composites in newspapers and on wall-to-wall live coverage. I’ve talked to a few who are reliving that awful day at Sandy Hook Elementary School, those even littler faces.
The poem above is for them. I didn’t write it; the writer Maggie Smith did. Nor did I find it; Tom Tomorrow did, and shared it to Twitter. But I’ve read it through and through and through this morning. Thought it might help some people.