No One Cries for the Sinners (An Abecedarian)

Arizona is the place for a funeral, if there ever could be such a place

because believe me when I say, Life

can’t take root in dry soil. No Botanist or Investigator

dares to try and stop her. She is contacted by the weak, the helpless, the hopeless,

each in dying need of her services. I think of her often today, while at my husband’s

funeral. She was careful; killing him slower than the fading pale

green bruises on my God- given body. If I was religious, any God of mine would be in

Hell right along with the criminals and devils she sends there. Hotter there than the

injected poison that inflames their bodies. Hotter than Arizona. Is it

Justice for the lives these men have already stolen? Depends on whom you ask.

 

Killers like Penelope are hard to find unless they want to be found. She never

lets people in too close, only the wicked

moths, like my abusive drunk husband, deserving of her fiery temper. She collects

newspaper clippings like coin collectors treasure Civil War nickels.

Obituaries like trophies line her walls. It was my life or his. I choose mine.

Proudly, I’d do it again. My body wasn’t his property to use or abuse as he wished.

 

Queen of murder, Penelope alone carries the weight of death and demons

rotting inside her. She straddles a line between serial killer and

superhero. Or are they just different sides of the same coin? I could not be more

thankful that she slayed the dragon that I couldn’t save my kids from. It’s not easily

understood, I know. Only those who survived a certain kind of darkness will.

 

Vigilantes like Penelope are clever, venomous, calculating, beautiful,

worst of all, deadly. A cold- blooded killer living in the dry grass,

xeric climate. A climate like fucking Arizona.

You won’t find life taking root, no tears to water its growth. It’s dead space, ground

zero for the ghosts and hellish creatures like Penelope and the sinners she kills.

 

-November 2015

 

Photo Credit

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