Residue of Tragedy
Certain things have happened here
that makes us think there’s a man—
an unspecified, slightly tall Caucasian
male, at the window
Certain things have happened, which
makes us lock our doors, and he has
tools to break in and he saw us at market,
crossing the street and
we did not see him.
He followed us home and
we do not owe anyone
we haven’t stolen.
The Maltese lap dog must see him
in the tree’s shadow that she barks at and
the children don’t know why they are no longer defiant in
clasping their mothers hands.
No one here is fit to juror.
The men try to comfort,
lightening doesn’t strike twice in one spot,
and the women do not leave
home after dark without
gone and now
there are marathons and scholarships
with names on them which are now street signs
and Jenny sleeps with a gun in her nightstand—
Such a pretty requiem,
an identity which cannot
be rinsed, refuses to be un-scorched,
from the trees in autumn.
Brittany Barberino Evans has been published in Quest and Metaphor. She resides in Connecticut where she is a playwright for a local theater company.