In Mt. Hope

“We’re going to Jesus.”

“Papa, no! Don’t!”

The red trolley train trundled by

heading downtown

past marble angels

tall, slender monuments to the dead.

The children cried and tugged

trying to get away

from the man with the knife

slashing, crying, talking

to his dead grandmother.

“We’re going to Jesus.”

Swinging the blade,

he cut the boy, the eldest.

A young woman laying

flowers on a grave watched

then ran over to stop the father.

The man ran off, stopped

at last by a security guard.

The boy bled, his superhero

tee shirt wrapped around his arms.

Another trolley sped down the tracks

heading the opposite direction

through the cemetery

into the quiet suburbs.


About Diann Writes

Diann L. Tongco enjoys sketching, crafts and photography as well as writing poetry and novels. To stay out of trouble, she writes, shows curly-coated retrievers, grows fragrant roses, drinks good of wine with friends, and spends time with her grandchildren. She lives on Washington's Puget Sound with her boyfriend Nick and their dog Ozzy.
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