Walking along the beach at dawn–the party is over–beer cans, burnt down bonfire, candles melted into sand.

Something happened
but you were not there
too young, too old, too distracted, uninvited.

Like that time you came upon a chicken sacrificed in Central Park and you knew to not stop but just keep walking through the black feathers.
Prayers lie like lei lines across the city
the descansos
for my neighbor
shot by the police
so many years ago
4th of July
is gone. I remember
they killed a man
attempting suicide
with a small knife.
Draw your own conclusions.
The bullets
came through the bedroom wall
where the kids were sleeping in bunk beds.
I drank a shot of vodka
at 8 o’clock in the morning with my friends
in that house. The kids must be middle-aged
and everyone else in this story is dead, except me.
There is a new descansos
At St. Francis and Paseo, the corner with the honey vendor, for a child killed in the crash. Helium balloons have wilted. You cross that intersection twice a day. In Paris, small plagues memorialize partisans shot by the SS. Most things are unmarked but that does not mean earth and its paving stones have forgotten.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized by Miriam Sagan. Bookmark the permalink.

About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well ( The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s