By Tricia
Date: 26 February 2001

CRIME SCENE

She smiles most days,
exhibiting no visible signs 
of outward injuries.
The coroner’s report said, 
“she’s been broken beyond recognition,” 
but she’s managed to gather the pieces 
of the shell of the woman she remembers, 
then carefully reassemble them within 
the chalk outline on the pavement. 

On the other days, 
she still reels from the impact,  
sifting through the debris,
searching for tangible remains 
of a life she thought she understood.

This trail of deception runs farther 
than even she can follow,
his confession providing indisputable 
evidence of passion’s merciless slaughter.

She’s perfected the art of denial now, 
refined it even by her own standards.
“If I don’t believe it, it never happened” 
she mutters, in Scarlett O’Hara flashbacks.
But some pain exists whether 
you believe in it or not.

She’s gotten pretty good at covering his tracks,
but the DNA of heartbreak lingers long after
the crime scene’s gone cold,
its remaining evidence only visible now
to keen observers in morning’s light.