Cold Bodies

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                and the blood spills out,

          caught in crossfire 
          pre-meditated 
          warnings given
          too young always.

There is suddenly time and space to feel things,
unhappy things, 
this is when certain communities mourn.
and others look on with judgment and have expensive coffee talks about what could have been done to avoid it.

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                  and the blood spills out,

           wrong place and wrong time
           last words they would have never chosen for themselves
           hurting people taking matters into their own hands 
           people of influence and privilege collecting data and news clippings.

We do the thing, the shock, the pushing away emotions, the remembering better times,
Burn candles, pray for the family, write about it, forget about it,
till the next one,
and we repeat,
and nothing changes. 

When it rains, it pours.
But I've decided to set out a bucket to catch some of this damn rain and put it to good use in a community that is suffering from a drought of systematic death.

I wanna love bodies while blood is pumping in their veins. 
Not once they turn cold.