Glenda Barrett

On the same day,
we lingered in bed,
mindless of tiny crumbs
falling from blueberry muffins
on the soft, white comforter
sprinkled with patches of sunlight.

On the same day,
we laughed and talked, content
as our gray tomcat, Blue, who
was soaking up the warm rays
of the early morning sun,
on the windowsill.

On the same day
in the shank of the evening,
we stood together trembling,
in front of a coroner in a hospital
and heard the words. "Your parents
were killed by a drunk driver."