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Generation K

Ileana Zea


Written after the devastating school shootings across the nation, particularly at Columbine High School

It seems as of late that body bags dominate my dreams
Adolescent final resting sacks enclosing my last hopes
and the number only increases
Miles of body bags
I’m counting body bags as they jump over fences
As they jump over fences into furnaces
Crackling, blistering flesh seems to lull me to sleep now-a-days
I dream of crime scene videos
Musically choreographed images of
brain splattered gymnasiums and bloodied lockers
Caking, congealing blood encrusting immortalized innocence
Musically choreographed images
in my reality based sub consciousness

I am of a generation where arsenals
were as commonplace as butter knives—
and even those were stock piles, like arsenals
Generation K
Mercenaries in the making
Snipers strapped to teenaged bodies

What will I tell my grandchildren?
I waded through rice paddies growing up?
And ducked behind the rotting corpses of those other foot soldiers
Those who didn’t make it home

Generation K
Bullet riddled bodies upon bullet riddled bodies
upon bullet riddled bodies—
Upon me—upon my humanity—and my civility
Stripping off my teenage shield—raping away my livelihood

What will I tell my grandchildren?
As I try to lull them to sleep
How I tiptoed through mine fields on my way to school—
dodged bullets in my classroom
All the while trying to survive
the deadliest war zone of the all
The Suburbs
That I was from Generation K
Generation Kill

I’ve been dodging bullets for so long now
I’ve been dodging bullets for so long now
I AM Columbine
I’m hanging from the windows
Trying to release my childhood out that window
Fly—be free
I am San Diego
I knew the chaos before it erupted
I am the dead
I am the wounded