In Cold Blood

Rain falls outside the second-story window,
Streaks of water drip unevenly down
the jimmied windowsill.
A ladder mysteriously leans against
the wall of the house where its metal frame pops
from ice as the rain turns to sleet.

The splintered window frame invites
a winter mix to splash the carpet.
Two feet away, a girl’s hand lays deathly still,
Wet blood trickles in a trail from her finger.
The detective’s crinkled eyes scan the room
as the sleet turns to slushy snow.

Beyond the crumpled bed covers
glass shards of a shattered lamp cover the floor,
Orange embers burn hot from the fireplace;
On the hearth lays a gun. One empty chamber
confesses the bullet that hushed her
before the rain turned to snow.

His eyes fall on the girl again,
Her motionless body, still like a picture,
The dawn of young life passed to dusk.
He closes her blue eyes,
Once bright with spirit and soul,
But now the rain, sleet, and snow has stopped.