The howl sticks in my throat
machetes my vocal cords
due to their restraint
at placing vile and volatile words
over the purple flowers
of a glorious sun rise.
The blood that remains
on the sidewalk
near the Lady of Guadalupe altar
I push-broom into the dirt
thus bury that part of the victim
separate from where the family will mourn.
A pail of soapy water
with sponge and scrub brush
cleans the sidewalk
and any splatter that left droplets
on the alter.
On hands and knees
the smallness of this block
settles upon me
as I insistently take in
the beauty of the grass
bushes and flowers.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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