I see a newly-painted crosswalk
covered in color-arranged chalk
to mimic the aura of what it once was:

a rainbow crosswalk

leading to the very building
where 49 souls
left bodies behind
dripping blood on the dance floor.

victims of hate-driven gun violence
no reasonable resolutions
in the only country
where these events
are in one ear
out the other

I wonder
what the families think.
did they watch their sons and daughters
baptized in desaturation
as the Department of Transportation
erased the colors away?
was the blood splatter
still fresh beneath the paint?

did these souls flow down the drain,
left to let die
like when cowards stood by,
afraid to infiltrate a building
when loved ones’ lives
were left on the line?

When all that mattered about a bathroom
was if it was a safe place to say goodbye

I see the community gathered
brought together by anger
for the ways in which
the government tries to erase us

their rage to brace themselves
stare daggers into hatred’s snarling face
fan flames with flags

demand the right to be colorful
in their own community

and so when nature
washes the chalk away
they resort to repainting
repaving the way
flowers laid across the lawn

sidewalk sprayed,
OUR HISTORY WILL NOT BE ERASED
protesters say,
WHOSE STREETS? OUR STREETS

I see the community gathered
further bonded by laughter
and love
and love
and love
will always prevail
over hatred

a rainbow’s more visible in the rain anyway.