3:00 AM, Bathroom Floor
It's three o'clock in the morning,
and I'm sitting here on the bathroom floor,
reliving that day—
reliving your death.
If only crying could ease the pain...
maybe I could live my life again.
But instead,
I close my eyes and hear my voice
blubbering to 911.
Dad is at work—he's safe.
I try to call Jaime,
but he hangs up
because I can't speak.
I'm trying to say you're dead
and Jacob's been shot,
but all that comes out
are tears and snot.
I think about Javier and Mom,
still outside,
still in danger,
unsure if they’re surviving
or joining you.
I'm trying—
trying to be calm,
to be collected,
but I hear each gunshot
as if it just happened.
I open my eyes
and look around.
I'm not at Mom and Dad's house.
I'm two hours away,
at my new place
where no one knows our story,
where no one knows about *that day*.
I should be happy.
I should take each moment
and make it great—
that’s what you would say to do.
But instead,
I’m here,
sitting on the bathroom floor,
wishing I could escape.
Copyright © Sarah Moncada | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment