Read Poem: who got lucky after all, by Parisa Ghaderi

He left me a voice message that we had survived a shooting.
His voice was shaky, nervous, maybe excited to be alive, or ashamed.
He said there was a shooting the night after we left, on the same street,
south of Philadelphia.
He said it could have been us, the two of us, holding hands,
I told him I guess god liked us this time
And only this time
Like so many other times, I had said the same thing.
He said my mom would have died of this sorrow,
And I said I don’t have a mom
But I have died of her grief once.
And the good thing about dying is that you don’t die anymore.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest