• We stood around her corpse:
    little scientists, pretending
    she was our latest experiment.
    We measured her trajectory
    from ledge to concrete, had numbers
    to freeze her last moments in;
    we took pictures, and outlined her body
    in chalk.

    She was our immortal question now.
    She could not escape our pages and frames.

    Did she scream?
    Did she crack like a blood-filled egg
    knocked accidentally out of the fridge
    when someone reached for the milk?
    Could we have heard her
    if we listened hard enough?

    Her body never said a word.
    Broken, it traveled through the night:
    sirens blaring above, tires screeching below.

    All we can guess is that her mind was a forest,
    and no one was there to hear her make a sound.