The pathologists came, and collected up her bones.
Curled up in a shallow grove, by smooth river stones.
Tenderly, they place her remains in a temporary casket.
There’ll be a question for God, and in prayers they’ll ask it.
A family member took her down to the river, took her life.
A loved one hurting one near and dear, these cases are rife.
The bones cleaned and examined, like holy relics, reverence.
Put the killer away, life made living death, penalty of severance.
A donated grave and headstone, marking where she may be at rest.
She dreamed of the SoCal sun, of a glamorous life out their to the west.
No meaning to be made, God wasn’t trying to teach us, just a horrid death.
Hold on to warmth of a setting sun, wind bows the blooms of baby’s breath.