Emily

The hand falls, turned upward in the shallow pool
created from the rest of the body.
Strange that a small stream
carries so much weight in water,
grinding slowly at its bottom rock.

Grass and reeds
surround the pale hand,
the exposed palm.

Wisps of floating hair, waving
as if blown from wind on a journey,
a skyward ascension.

The wrists, white
in contrast to the dark bottom,
flesh and rock.
Colored bracelets encircle
the dead girl’s arm.
Exterior growth rings, honoring her age.

Did she know about the justice that would follow?
Could she forsee the layers
of dialogue,
noir,
allegiance,
symbols?

The clues placed in passionate able hands,
only through storm and thunder,
hurting and leaving?

That love could be so thick
it became a place to be feared?

That words of little meaning could key her killer,
free an angry soul?
Tug,
Pin,
Poor Frisco,
and Brick.