By Suzanne O’Connell
Your arms waved for help.
The policeman bent down, hand on gun.
“No!” you shouted.
The sound, an exploding beehive.
I looked at your fragile skull, resting
on the sharp leaves of fall.
Your eyelids blinked.
Helicopters circled, sirens came.
Your blood kept pooling.
It was the color of mine.
I saw the snow catch in your curly hair.
You had something in your hand,
a Black Cow caramel bar.
“It Lasts All Day,” the wrapper said.
Suzanne O’Connell is a poet and clinical social worker living in Los Angeles. Her recently published work can be found in Poet Lore, American Chordata, Alembic, Forge, Juked, Existere, and Crack the Spine. O’Connell was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize. Her first poetry collection, A Prayer for Torn Stockings, was published by Garden Oak Press in 2016. Visit Suzanne’s website.
Photo credit: Mycatkins via a Creative Commons license.