On Monday
My sister was
slaughtered
and all the people
watched.
Grief flowed
like a thick grey
soul-stealing fog
through every voice
that stopped to tell.

I stepped off a bus
and hesitated,
then walked to
buy my bread.

On Tuesday
I wrote a letter
and reported to Central,
then completed paperwork
for a Smith and Wesson.

Tomorrow I will
call all my girl-friends,
it’s been a while.

© Debra Providence 2006

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