Veronica Haunani Fitzhugh
Electrifying
bullets fly–fatal and fast.
A veiled woman falls.
Footsteps do not slow
even as the baby squirms in her arms
trying to breathe free from her
tightening, dying clutches.
A veiled woman falls.
Footsteps do not slow
even as the baby squirms in her arms
trying to breathe free from her
tightening, dying clutches.
They
both lie in the mid-morning heat.
Overturned carts and abandoned bicycles
litter the lifeless street.
Overturned carts and abandoned bicycles
litter the lifeless street.
The
square is silent and smells of a red brown
trickle rust across the ground.
trickle rust across the ground.
Her
name meant Grace.
His name was Noah.
His name was Noah.
They
fly to the pearly gates only to find further cages.
Veronica Haunani Fitzhugh earned her BA in English Literature from the University of Virginia but is more proud of the friendships she earned through her social justice work in Charlottesville, Virginia. She has been in several anthologies online and in print. Her main blog is Charlottesville Winter at cvillewinter.wordpress.org.
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