NaPoWriMo #14: The Murder

At the site of the murder
I wanted to summon birds
from the sky, make them sing
a mourning song for the woman
who spotted stolen goods
in her co-worker's bag, saw
nothing but darkness after.
Listing the bloody blows
one by one won't help, or
remembering how the killer
lied to detectives, tying herself
up, pretending to be violated.
The police removed each piece
of her jigsaw, lay the real
picture on the judge's docket.
I think of how any of us
can try to do right, pointing
out a theft of life.  But death
doesn't like how truth
intrudes.  It's a lazy criminal
who breaks a face, carves
a wound rather than recalls
what it was like to live in peace,
a snake not in her mouth
justifying fangs and poison.