Keith Montesano is the author of the poetry collection Ghost Lights (Dream Horse Press, 2010). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Blackbird, Mid-American Review, Third Coast, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and elsewhere. He currently lives with his wife in New York, where he is a PhD Candidate in English and creative writing at Binghamton University.
— after the film by Stephen Chiodo
Reports on the radio & news stories: nothing we believed,
& weeks since I saw you, your plane then on its flight across
the country, when we said next time those weeks would
never pass. They were horrific & walked slowly down our street,
& still I thought: some prank, before their guns spit webs
of pink & bodies turned to cocoons, before the man bolted
& didn’t make it alive, lifeless & bouncing near the truck
that sped away, before I wanted to scream for them
to find you, since I knew then I could not be saved. But I waited
in the dark, my face hidden in the black, & watched
as they vacuumed & collected, piles & piles on rainbow sleds,
& listened for a knock, feet busting down the door.
But nothing came. I was there for hours, fell asleep until dawn —
party streamers & confetti still littering the streets.