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| Art from Naomi Kane. Image source: TheNib |
Words travel dark back roads of my brain, seep into aching fingers
that strike the keyboard then ricochet off the page like a human pummeled
and tossed.
—a slight body can dent the grill, a car the weapon of choice,
and headlights grab strands of blonde hair later smoothed around her
young face by her mother’s trembling hands—
and we, shocked, shocked I tell you
step lightly across the abyss from then into now,
collective arms drop in surrender, heads hang resigned,
eyes look away then glance back to watch America turn
rancid, its remains ooze behind clanking gates, huddle with ignorance,
kick the dirt in search of morality and decency once treasured.
And we still don’t believe the signs and symptoms—
even though the heart has stopped beating.
Marsha Owens spent her career in public education and is now happily retired. Born and raised in Richmond, VA, the recent events in Charlottesville hit too close to home. She is pleased that her work has appeared at Rat’s Ass Review, The Wild Word, TheNewVerse.News and is forthcoming in Streetlight Magazine.
