Red Streak Poem by John F. McCullagh

It was a dry, sunny day in June.
that fact she would never forget.
It was the day she lost her partner
to a surfeit of regret.

She had taken their little daughter,
the product of donated sperm,
to the nearby Hillside Park
and picnic'd on the side of a berm.

Jane had declined to come with them.
Jane was in one of her 'moods'.
Perhaps she shouldn't have left her,
but she thought Jane just needed to brood.

Jane was her beautiful partner
erratic, mercurial, bright.
Jane, who could light up the heavens
like a bolt from the blue in the night.

They returned to a silent apartment.
It was the stuff of nightmares, not dreams.
A red streak of blood in the bathroom
Her little girl started to scream.

A kind neighbor cared for her daughter
as she spoke to police in a fog.
The M.E.'s van came for the body.
Seeing Jane lifeless was odd.

Tomorrow, she must make arrangements.
She needn't bear this all alone.
It was time that she spoke with Jane's parents.
Softly weeping, she picked up the phone.