The power lines hum louder
following an ear-splitting suicide,
strumming to soothe
those who lean on the posts,
while birthing the deafening,
and listening to that buzzing lullaby.
I imagine my late classmate’s mother
like holding a child that is not mine,
staring in fear
at what will come of her life.
My tears fall to her sleeping cheeks,
and I want to comfort the part of her
that may become a mother—
maybe the one who loses her child,
so I sing, through gritted teeth,
making sure she still hears
the tune that promises
to forevermore power the lights,
in the arms of noise—white;
I will stay here
with her–
with you–
through this incessant final night.