My son died on this date 15 years ago.

My son died on this date 15 years ago.

It was a slow day,

She was privileged

In a throw-it-all-away

“For my life is worth less

Than the real world”

Kind of way,

She was double-bound

Trapped into being

Both more and less than earthbound.

Some of the lines were self-indulgent

Others, plainly racist

But they had a jagged

Ragged, razor cut across the throat

Bloody kind of beauty.

I pine for the people I knew

Who blew it all away

The pinprick between the toes

The rope

The ledge

The broken fingernails.

I pull a sheet of nostalgia

Over my heart

Thought about a Greek tragedy

Which brought no relief

As another wave of discomfort

Slipped through my guard.

The day is as long

As it is short

A dog chews on a dry bone

With its tail banging

Against the wall

Until it bleeds.

Nobody stops it

Until the blood stains the carpet

In the hall

And somebody screams

Blue murder.

I wonder what would have happened

If it was a cat

With nine tails.

One for every life.

It is that kind of day.

Sometimes people take up arms

Do themselves harm,

Before they hurt others,

Even as they do.

And I just can’t believe

I have survived

Long enough to remember

What it was like before

The fire went out

And a fretful wind blew.