Every town —
We’ll say it could be any town,
until it has affected every town,
and we all bear the same scars and pains.
Our circle of life, our cycle of shame,
on high alert from the moment we wake.
New brothers and sisters every day,
a family held together by grief and heartache —
bound not by a joyful, warm embrace
but by cold, heavy, miserable chains,
each link tallying those sent to the grave
by men armed and drunk with rage.
Every school —
We’ll say it could be any school,
until it has affected every school,
in this country where our students are trained,
as tiny soldiers who use desks to shield from the rain,
the hail of bullets that fly once again
in American classrooms where no one is safe.
Campus lawns scarred by pathways,
as the masses flee and frantically strain.
The goal of returning home is no longer mundane,
but for some this struggle will be in vain —
Another American campus forever bloodstained.
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
Contributing Writer
Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center Paul L. Foster School of Medicine
Melissa Huddleston is a fourth-year medical student at Texas Tech University Health Sciences Center Paul L. Foster School of Medicine in El Paso, Texas class of 2023. In 2016, she graduated from Baylor University with a Bachelor of Science in informatics and a secondary major in classics. In 2018, she graduated from Baylor University with a Master of Public Health in community health education. She enjoys hiking, jumping rope, and reading. After graduating from medical school, Melissa would like to pursue a career in pediatrics.