V is for Vivian / Duval
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