On Peachland Road

Twenty, or so, years ago
my grandmother’s scream
fell silent.
Her echo remains,
until this day
lost in the hills of our home.
One decade has
passed, since last we heard it,
seized by the throes of my pain.
I slipped and I fell
one hundred feet
above the scene of her murder.
A neighbor of sorts
heard us both years apart,
caught in time from the past.
It wasn’t her fault,
wasn’t her choice,
to become victim of circumstance.
She chose the wrong man,
believing in him,
falling prey to his predator.

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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