Distance

You can fawn over cancer in a smoker

if you’ve never taken a drag. You can feel

sorrier when the woman was mugged

late at night. And when a child drowns,

you know you would’ve latched that fence,

listened for footsteps by the door.

It’s said that tragedy draws us closer,

yet we look for a rock to wedge between us

and horror. Yesterday, on the bus route

I take to work, a man stabbed a woman

until she died. It was early afternoon.

I heard it first on the news, and later,

at our stop, how quickly talk leapt

from shock to sympathy to did she

know him? Randomness is the mad king

of fear. No one can prepare for a man

who pulls a knife before she even

looks up. The reporter had said,

once it was over, three men held him

until the cops came. Tonight, we waited

in wool and fleece, in down and leather,

in a tight circle of streetlight. Did any of us

wake today and think we’d be dead

by day’s end? Maybe she did. After all,

it was her husband, which made us feel

better. It’s always safer when someone

is killed by someone they loved.