A Prayer for a Broken Little City

Aye Burque, we are a broken little city existing in a broken little state. We are a tiny little light being consumed by darkness.

Too many babies, too many tiny lives have been cut short and I can't wrap my head around any of it.

Shit like this happens in other cities, but this is home, and home is supposed to be safe.  Babies are supposed to be safe. Mothers are supposed to keep their babies safe.

Mothers are supposed to keep their babies safe.

Mothers are supposed to keep their babies safe.

I don't know where we went wrong. I don't know when the darkness crept in and consumed our light.

The stewards of our city and state will use these tiny little lives to play politics, and in our anger, frustration and fear, we'll play right into their greedy hands.

Amen, I say to you:

Resist.

Calling for more death isn't justice.  Letting inmates rot on death row while their cases are appealed over and over for 40 or more years isn't justice. Playing politics with human lives is not justice.

Resist.

Victoria was not born to be a sacrifice. Nor was Ashlynne; or Lilly; or Ty; or Omaree; or Breanna; or Miranda. None of these babies were born only to die in the most brutal manners possible.

We do not honor them when we plunge into darkness, screaming for more blood.

Resist.

Their memories are at risk of being nothing more than media ratings and political speeches. We forget as quickly as we can because it is too painful and these babies faces are used to sell papers and politicians and we look away because it hurts.

Resist.

Say their names. Look their deaths in the eye and be forever altered by your grief. Let your grief spur you to action. Take care of the children of our city.  Take care of the children of our state.  Our city is broken and plunged in despair. It's tempting to give up, to ignore, to call for more death.

Resist.

We must resist the darkness.

We are light. Those babies are light.  Our city deserves the light.

Resist the darkness; embrace the light.