That day was like any day,
except she stood on a bridge,
looked over to see the river
swirling around black rocks.
Her best friend pushed her
from behind, and she fell–
too surprised to scream–
like a spinning leaf.
The doctor said she was lucky
to be alive; the police wanted
the facts–play or malice,
crime or not.
Nothing was the same after that–
she rarely touched her phone,
wanted to be alone or standing
on that bridge again,
pushed over and falling into
water that broke like glass.
She lost someone she never
wanted to find again—
a girl who breathed bad air,
didn’t know how to swim
upstream or down, thank
and forgive her best friend.
William Miller‘s eighth collection of poetry, Lee Circle, was published by Shanti Arts Press this summer. His poems have most recently appeared in The Anglican Theological Review, Crucible, Flint Hills Review and The Literary Nest. He lives and writes in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
–Art by Marcos Lomba