A woman got killed
on the freeway exit
near my house.
She drove east late
one Friday night,
the guy with a baseball bat
was waiting.
He left her body
in the Mustang
and walked home
carrying the bat.
In my car on that off-ramp
after dark, I never stop,
not completely.
I want my brother,
my ex-husband, my Dad.
I want to run
big-eyed like a deer,
my nose to the wind.
I want to toss a baton
into the air, follow
end over end, past the sky,
up to the throne of God --
Lord, Iíll say,
Iíve been alive
in your scary world
a long time, how do you
justify?
Heíll point
to the murdered girl.
Sheís dancing, radiant,
a spray of mimosa
in her hair--
I pull more covers over
the cold spot
in my chest, nudge
closer to the dog
and cats around me.
In for the night,
I tell them,
all in for the night.
Cherry Jean Vasconcellos lives in Pasadena and teaches English as a Second Language to adults in Los Angeles. Her poems have appeared in Poetry/LA, New York Quarterly, Pearl, and Grand Passion: the Poets of Los Angeles published by the Los Angeles Poetry Festival.