Dear diary,
-April 13th,2020
There was
the first gasp of the morning,
brittle, and at the edge of dawn—
There was the teenager zipping
through traffic on his
motorcycle, there was the sound
of the brakes, the shattering
of the glass. There
was the slashing of the flesh
between the thumb and the index
by the envelope’s edge;
the gaping of the wound
as if it had something to say.
There was the woman
cradling the girl beside
the crash,
how their dusty tear tracks had smeared,
the beautiful dawn behind them.
There was the officer
that approached, shaking her
head, gently;
bits of glass, crunching
beneath her feet.
There was the motion of the trees
through my window
this morning.
This world: mute, distant, chaos.