Casting Shadows

 

 

Jill May

followed the wrong dream

traded family albums for cardboard

and crack pipes.

Alcatraz fog

slips in steals shadows

surrounds her.

Turning tricks

on Jones Street

scoring the next fix

of crack

or smack.

“You know, I’m gonna clean up soon,”

she grinned.

Huddled,

barefoot,

in doorways

wrapped in mist–ragged blankets,

she slides the needle

in her neck

the best place to relieve

the cold shiver

the crack hunger

the throwing up

of dumpster food.

Dealers see her

talking to cops

debts unpaid

trying to clean up

Yesterday,

they found her

doused with gas

dead,

clutching

a burnt cross,

casting a shadow

on a black wall.