She never thought
she would miss the fights.
But now,
she hears the grinding
of her jaw
the crack of bones
the marrow coats
her coated tongue.
The radio's chattering drone
the lonley voices from the hinterlands
that she giddily mocked with him-
are her's
now.
And the photos of him
held tenuously by a cheap magnet
on the refrigerator door
an inanimate taunt
a ridiculously happy frozen
moment of time-
She is now
a prisoner of
deadened silence
What was her crime?
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Peace,
Cherokee
Reindeer