"Valerie was killed on the Sidney Slab,"
the voice on my answering-machine said.
"And that's why
we couldn't find her,
the worker we were looking for."
I looked at my husband mutely
Our faces expressionless
as we played back the mysterious tragedy
again,
again.
(This was not meant for our ears)
The next day, a battered bag of groceries
appeared on our step.
Charity?
I wondered.
(We ate the candy bars and threw the rest away)
And the day after that two skinheads
frolicked in the park
throwing sticks in front of our house.
Still later,
blood on the sidewalk
and a near-fatal wreck.
"What the fuck is
going on here?"
I cried
& felt a fearful
CONNECTION
ripping underneath my skin
pushing like tectonic plates,
like a deadly slab of ice.
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