This is not my story to tell but

something bad happened.

Tragic. Outside the bodega. 

Past midnight. A bullet cut

through the thick city heat.

Everyone talking. Internet news

reports showing old pictures

as I pictured his steady yellow

gaze over the separating desk—

his mind cut like a blade

as he handily dissected

my reading of the text.

I wrapped myself in the colors

of mourning but wasn't prepared

for the ceremony. I didn't know

the right customs, couldn't recognize

him, couldn't see anything

except his four-year-old daughter

and the woman who fell to her knees.

I lowered my head and left

as the coffer was closed. 

Outside the sky was a black sunken

thing, and the way the wind screamed

sounded like him, banging

his fists on the roof of this world.

The clouds heaved, livid

with rain, and I drove through

the storm until a blaze of light

showed through the dark veil

and I swear. I saw a spirit

soar over New York. 

Copyright 2017 | Pet Murmur