“It’s 11 pm and death is on my mind,
accidents upon accidents, blood and gore
somewhere in the streets, she
is the time passing and sick, invading dark
people gone missing—could she have been?
No, says my sister, but she’s young and has no power
over things we can’t trust and things we can’t see.
I’m young and have no power, am small, never win
but I check the empty driveway, look up at the sky line…”
Read the rest of the poem at The Harvard Advocate.