She drowned in the river

by my house. A woman

I never met. I did meet

her husband when I found

him screaming on the bridge.

Heard him during a morning smoke.

Went looking and found him

on the road, covered the by water

of overrun banks. Too much rain.

Said he'd been out here all night,

looking, searching, hoping.

I took his presence up here

as a sign of giving up. He said

"I know she's dead." Gave him

my last smoke and the best prayer

I had. Hand on his back, wet from

the water he drug himself out of.

I guess he grabbed a fallen tree and

climbed out. I called 911. Ambulances came.

Four total. He used my phone to call

his mom. She called back. I answered.

This agony was real. I walked home

about a mile with remnants of the river

squishing in my shoes with every step.

My wife sobbing at the news, even more

when we heard they found the body a

few hours later. Still, for all the pain I felt

that day, it didn't hit as hard as when

bacon grease splashed up on my wife's cheek

and burnt her skin a little. Fucking humanity.

The little angel boy in his blue velvet suit lay cushioned in his casket. Emotion

overtook me as I gazed at his long black eyelashes resting on his plump baby cheeks. He was only three years old and no longer part of this world.

Two days ago, I heard his grandfather screaming his name, searching the neighborhood for him. Neighbors frantically helped him search for the little boy. Long into the night, I heard the mournful calls, wailing with heartbreak.

The next morning, his small body was found in the pond floating in the hearts of the water lilies. His love of the little ducks inhabiting the water had lured him to his watery death as he pursued them with the innocence of a child.

The cherubic beauty of this child was not lessened by the fact that he was slightly retarded. Soft dark curls haloed his face as he lay cherished in his resting place. I cried as I remembered the grace and love that he had brought to the grieving mourners. He left his footprints on the world in the short time that he was here, occupying a heartbreaking place in my memory. He now resides with the angels.

A Summer Night

A long, sweltering summer day turned into overtime. Deadlines and a screaming supervisor forced me into myself. I worked like an automaton and spent the rest of the night without much incident.

Sweat soaked my shirt as I climbed the stairs. The particular car I rode on the subway had no air-conditioning. I was too tired to get up and move. When I got to my station, I stumbled towards the exit.

The streets were full of loud music from radios, open windows and passing cars. Children ran and laughed and played at open hydrants. Street hoods made eyes at everyone that they didn’t know and they knew no one. I longed for a cool shower and my soft bed.

At twenty paces from the front of my building, the shadows come to life. From its hiding place between parked cars one whipped around and rushed me, slamming its hands on my chest, throwing me off balance. Behind me, on all fours was the other shadow that I tripped over.

My back made contact with the concrete sidewalk. Air rushed out of my lungs. My arms were stretched above my head. The first shadow sat on my knees while he held a gun to my face. The other took my father’s watch, which I had had up to that point for eleven years. My wallet, with my identification and money was also taken.

From where I lived, people stood and watched. The shadows were gone. Slowly, I got up. The back of my head throbbed. As I passed my neighbors one said, “I thought he was dead for sure.”