It rained in Uvalde Tuesday night,
a steady, hard rain all night long—
a cleansing rain to wash away our brokenness,
a steady refrain;
a funeral veil to cover the bodies
of nineteen little ones—
why so many?—
plucked at the bud and not the bloom;
a useful rain,
fitting symbol of a city on her knees in agony.
For a moment, the sky wept with us,
just like Jesus.
Dark clouds have replaced the rain,
growing ever ominous by the day.
Uvalde.
Synonymous now with Columbine—
Columbine, a rarity in those days,
a far-reaching tragedy.
For both, a trail of events were set in motion
that would take years to overcome:
Uvalde’s Trail of Tears,
her Pearl Harbor,
her cross to bear.
Infamy.
