Death on the Small Screen

The monotony of a frigid, winter school day

Broken up by a television wheeled into the classroom

So we could “Witness history,”

A promise so true that it now sounds prophetic.

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Anticipation had been put into us

By teachers who were more excited than we were

To see one of their own, just a regular person,

Escape the firmament and touch the sky.

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I don’t remember the countdown,

But the liftoff has stayed with me for decades.

We all watched the plumes separate,

Streaking in every direction.

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The same adults who seemed so cocksure,

And confident in their day-to-day wisdom,

Turned off the television and wheeled it from the room

Without a word.

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The suspicion of wrongness remained unconfirmed,

As we attempted a return to normalcy.

The teachers were shaken, some of them crying,

Seeing one of their own fall like Icarus.

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They would not speak of what we had seen,

An information blackout in effect.

Their silence told us everything we needed to know.

Even children can suss wisdom out of omission.

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I carried my imposed ignorance home,

Not fully understanding

Until I saw my mother, a teacher herself,

Crying as well.

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From Lee Harvey Oswald to 9/11,

These are the memories that shape generations,

Tragedy delivered to children,

Deaths on the small screen, as they step towards understanding.

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This poem is dedicated to the memory of crew of The Space Shuttle Challenger:

Dick Scobee, Commander

Michael J. Smith, Pilot

Ronald McNair, Mission Specialist

Ellison Onizuka, Mission Specialist

Judith Resnik, Mission Specialist

Gregory Jarvis, Payload Specialist

Christa McAuliffe, Payload Specialist, Teacher