by Susan Vespoli
My dead son was in the car
with me as I drove to the lawyer’s
office to pick up my net-settlement check
and we drove past a laughing-Buddha chihuahua
running against traffic down the center of Dunlap
and we drove through a split of mountain crags
and we drove past a guy twirling and tossing a red-arrow
sign at an intersection and my heart and gut felt on fire
with raw grief and I said, “Well, here we are, Adam,”
meaning the end of the lawsuit
and even as I wanted to sob and flail
I could feel him smiling beside me,
saying, there, there, like a benevolent cloud.
When the paralegal handed me the check,
she beamed as if we should don party hats, throw confetti
and I wanted to pop every balloon in the place,
wave the rectangular piece of paper in the air
and say, this represents my son’s life.
Outside, humans were wearing tiny plastic glasses
and looking up at the sun and the sky
over the parking lot glowed fluorescent
and this check felt like me saying it was okay the cop shot my son
but I have fallen into a sort of love
with a man who is ironically a lawyer
who has helped me interpret the mind-fuck
of the legal system, understand that money the City
of Phoenix had to pay caused them pain to spark change
and it is springtime on the planet
where my son’s physical body is only a memory
and there is a throng of 5’ tall sunflowers
standing outside my bedroom window
and the ocotillo in my front yard, mere sticks and thorns
a month ago, is now covered with soft green and topped with flame-
colored flowers the wind flutters into candles on a cake.
Susan Vespoli lives in Phoenix, AZ, where citizens are still waiting for the release of the DOJ report regarding the Phoenix Police Department's excessive use of force. Her son, Adam, was killed by a police officer on March 12, 2022.