Stepping towards the body, Detective O’Brien asks if the victim was ALIVE when thrown into the river. I had had very little SLEEP, and was braced for a questioning of my competence. The Detective has opinions about women handling dead bodies, and my years of experience (not to mention the locations) did little to wipe the sneer off his face. Reminding myself that I would gain nothing from returning hostility with hostility, I straightened up and motioned him to a quieter spot. “Yes, Detective, the victim shows signs that they were dead before entering the water. We should have a full toxicology report to compare with the other victims.” He nodded, accepting for once, that I knew what I was doing.

My mind started to drift. I was so tired I could hardly stand. We were behind an apartment building, and the sounds of someone’s television floated down to us. Sounded like a comedian, profane by the frequency of the BLEEP erasing offensive language. I caught myself staring at nothing in particular, almost missing what the Detective was saying. I knew that no words could be as obscene as the violence we stood beside.

Georg’ann

Sitting in a small robin’s egg blue chair, lower legs splayed right and left
from knees resting together
trying to fit at a child’s desk
as conversations muffle through the walls.
I have access to a lovely workspace,
sophisticated with right sized furniture,
yet often I prefer being here
closer to the GROUP, perhaps
or more likely the way this interior room holds a fuller spectrum of my development
starting with the sense of security that comes from being in spaces just a bit too small
Mindlessly moving fingers across my SCALP
searching for sensation
as I listen to words from next door getting louder
and more distinct,
some I’d like to BLEEP,
These distinct intonations, mark time here
It must be Thursday coming to its close
I smile in recognition of the rhythms created by faceless strangers,
known to me only as names and story fragments
in this place I opened

Heather