I notice that
           January 19 has vanished
                  from the school's email, the more
  we wrote, the faster it moved down
   the line, finally rotating off into
       the outer reaches of
          until every digital trace, each
                        keystroke and electronic
            pixel had simply disappeared,
       the way the trail to a murder can grow
  blank and cold. Oh, how easy life would be

      if every bad memory just
                 flew bat-like out of the
           mind's dark cavern...instead,
                     neurons, tangled
                 like seaweed, minnows
                      darting in and out,
                               maybe forever.


Two months after a murder
in my school
March 27, 2007

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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