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~
Witness
She fell at 9:37—before the echo of disbelief.
At 9:42 the doctor begged for mercy; no answer came.
At 9:45 the snow stained red,
bleeding everything we once believed.
Renee—a mother, a poet—
lived in Minneapolis, breathed words into verse.
Her breath is still now,
a sonnet frozen in white cold ice.
Amanda Gorman named her
“forever fiercely Good.”
A mother’s dreams denied life,
but not denied witness.
“What did you do?” the neighbors yelled, in refrain.
“Murderer.” The echo follows me,
over and over again.
They saw it too—
the silence where response should have been.
Three shots—
smoke lifting,
a life dissipating.
Horror.
Shock.
Breath held.
Knowing—
and still waiting.
My eyes focused here.
My heart keeps time—
this memory, clear.
The masked man walked, not ran, away.
The scene returns.
Replay.
My soul bears her witness.
~
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