Sex and Murder Magazine

By Christa A. Bergerson

Death
was an abstract idea
when Shanti’s step dad
took us to the Chicago cemetery
to piss on his friend’s grave

I did not think
about my death, our deaths
I was naïve
disturbingly curious
picturing the dead man’s face

Two tomboys danced
circles
around a veteran’s enclave
indifferent as the wind
because innocence bears no grace