What We Can’t Unhear

By Breckyn Forcey

The message of salvation 

Rung out

Warning us to leave

Quietly, quickly,

Like we were all already ghosts

Waiting for the world to swallow us. 

A bomb threat

And the halls are calm,

As if we’ve learned

To swallow fear

Like a bitter pill,

Not enough to choke,

But just enough to settle in

And burn.

I felt it in my chest: 

The press of fear,

Like a heavy hand holding my breath hostage.

We should’ve been thinking about math,

About how long it takes to get to second period,

About the lunch we’d eat at noon.

Instead, 

We counted down seconds, 

And prayed we’d make it to the next minute.

When did we decide

That this was the new normal?

When did we start

Practicing fire drills for bombs,

Hiding under desks

Like that would make us small enough

To disappear

From the weight of what’s breaking?

Teachers are calm,

Too calm,

Like they’ve been here before.

And we have,

Too many times now.

But how many times

Before we stop calling it “nothing”?

How many times

Before this becomes something

We can’t just push away,

Something we can’t just shrug off

And act like it’s fine?

This shouldn’t be part of the routine.

This shouldn’t be something we know how to do:

Shuffle out the door,

Hands on our heads,

Looking like we’re practicing

For the end of everything.

A bomb threat,

And we walk the halls like we’re rehearsing a play

We never auditioned for.

We’ve learned to run on instinct,

To leave without asking why.

We are children,

Not soldiers.

We should not know

How to walk through fear

Like it’s a class we have to pass

Before the bell rings.

A bomb threat

Is not normal.

A bomb threat

Should never be normal.

And when it was over,

When we returned to the classrooms

Where we were supposed to be safe,

The walls still held their breath.

The floors still felt like glass,

Cracking under the weight of what we couldn’t unhear:

The sound of a world

That could break us

And keep us whole,

All in the same breath.