I sit and watch My sweet, innocent Daughter at swimming lessons And I think of all the other Sweet innocent daughters In cages Afraid And alone The collective is heartbroken And outraged and so we do what we Know how to do, Make calls write letters Donate. Good things. But not enough. And we try to separate our small lives And emotions From the collective grief We try to still laugh Because we have that choice. The option of turning away. I sit in metal bleachers In a hot room smelling of Chlorine while young women Teach my daughter to swim. While others care for her Gently and attentively. While a lifeguard looks on Never far away. I do not worry for her well being. She looks over periodically To make sure I am there And still watching. How is it possible That we are here Instead of there.