14 days

All that is left are
Three White Crosses
Cars pass by
too fast to notice
But I notice
I see them
When the crosses, too,
are gone,
beaten into the ground
I will still see them

It's been another two weeks. Ordinary weeks. Everyone went back to school or back to work. Sloshim is not even over. It is not yet 30 days but everything is normal or at least gives the appearance of normal. No more memorials. No more flowers. No more drapes or teddy bears or pictures. The only markers now are three small white crosses. And nothing will ever be the same again.
I still pass it. Three, four, five times a day. Every day. Cannot stop crying. I see the cars whiz by. They don't know. I don't know. It is not my grief. I am just a bystander, a witness. But I cannot stop crying.
I am glad I cannot stop. I am glad it hurts. If I could touch them, tell them I don't know, can't know.... I have a shoulder and tears to mingle with theirs. The world is shattered. You do not cry alone. You don't know that, know me. I am a stranger who saw. A stranger who cries. And cries. And cries.