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#4
Rain fell, refracted through car headlight and the blue flash
Of the police lights, and the memory of a sound
Kind of like a scream and kind of like a heavy wave
Thumping the shoreline. The image we left with
Rollerskates and concrete, a horrible velocity,
And watered down blood framing the merge left arrow
Like a halo, Was metaphorical.
She was just a girl, and where her bones collided with the road
Looked just the same the next day
When the workers at the telephone exchange rolled over the place
As it ever did. Around ten, the sandwich van called.
And she was dead, flowers tied to the side of the bridge
That pulled her down. I never really knew her, but I thought
Of her much more when she was dead than when she was here.
Even though it was thirteen years ago now she fell.
I wonder if such an intention ever cut through her mind
Or even half occured, when she hung in the balance
That one time, and fell the wrong way. It's kind of typical
Of me, that I relate to things this way. I feel bad
That I wrote those words, but I let it stand.
It's her legacy, or a tiny fraction of it at least.
Like a grain of sand, a single crystal of grit
Damp and covered in dark, in that layered concrete Square
My father built, what, twenty years ago.
My mother said she was on drugs, but what the fuck would she know?
A guy who's parents knew her parents said it was over a boy
What a price to pay, what a load to bare.
And so she died, broken off, a fractured path
Like a glass riddled with ice, exposed to sudden heat,
The pieces scattered everywhere, and I really couldnt tell you
Even what colour hair she had, if I'm being honest about it.
Rebecca, nothing I could say, would mean a thing, your memory
I wouldnt dare disturb, there is a hole in the world
The shape of you, and no one see's it. Will ever see it.
__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha
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