*From my poetry collection, All the Words in Between 

The search party found her under

the crunch of autumn oak leaves. Rigor mortis

set in three weeks ago.

Quickly,

she was filed next to Bella in the Witch Elm—

and other mysteries. She’ll adjust to tight spaces

and purgatory silence.

After the autopsy,

even the anchor woman shrugged. Everyone

followed suit, except for the shadow who defaced

brick walls with accusations.

Three months later,

another college student left a party and never

made it across her front lawn. She too entered her

very own cold case as the town buzzed around

her bruises and hammer-stained flesh.

Finally, my daughter was left alone so I could console

her soundlessly. But sometimes,

neighbors remember, and frown:

“I’m so sorry…but you found closure, so it’s better now.”

(No. It’s not.)