She clutched the photo
that had brought her so much joy
but now her hammering heart
was bruised and broken.
——————————
She damped down her rage,
afraid to feel
that ferocious force which had
flared fisting her hands,
as she tried to heed the
so sad sympathetic officer.
——————————
She rocked back and forth
and shook off the hands
that longed to hold her.
Comfort was wrong.
Numbness was better.
If she didn’t feel then
surely it couldn’t be true.
—————————
Outside she could hear
cars and people
waiting for news
and somewhere, someone
was washing away her sons blood.
—————————
She held the frame, until it
cut into her arms,
and looked across the room,
at stunned stares from the sofa.
Her beautiful children.
How could she care
for lives that could
be killed by knives
coldly cutting innocent flesh.
Would some wicked creature,
kindled by evil,
crucify her again and again?
The thoughts of the horror started to
zigzag,
like broken glass
through her mind
severing
her peace
for ever.
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