Where I’m From

Content Warning: Murder, violence, death.

At seven I learned 
somebody’s mother could be murdered 
right in my town.

That it could happen to my friend who I’d spent
countless hours tracking down stickbugs
and grasshoppers with nextdoor

to my daycare provider’s house. Years later,

she died, too. However kind, the paper said she buried a steak in her coat. 

<<<<<<<<< what pressure>>>>>>>>>

to be newsworthy in such a shade of red. 
Another mother, dead and gone. 

Where I’m from, people read the gossip, go to church-led 
girl scout troops and decorate 
Christmas trees with handmade ornaments. 

Where I am from there are closed doors and silences
we can never breach yet, we
are left with the cleave, sticking 
to paper with the blood

from our own hands. 

Photo by: ZENstreet