The Coroner, a poem

“There are a few who envy me. They want to know what they have to do to get my job, to be who I am. “It’s only death, how hard can it be?” Here, I silently reply, take it all. Every festering remnant of the people no one cared about in life, much less in death; all the broken children who will never know that I had grieved for them. Take it all. Just leave me my car keys so I can go home permanently. Someone else can listen to the bullshit Death loves to spew. He never shuts up.” Joseph Scott Morgan, Blood Beneath My Feet: The Journey of a Southern Death Investigator 

at the scene of the crime, bullets

punctured, then came to land in her

sterile room with its steel tables,

lined-up like good school children

waiting lessons in counting wounds,

determining gender, assessing age,

this day when Christmas trees wept and

a pall by the crèche crushed her hope


[in the stillness between breaths

she boxed and stored her tears,

making way for scalpel and saw,

best to keep her heart in lockdown]


Written on hearing the news about Sandy Hook in 2012. I posted it today because I happened upon this article about school shootings since 2013, after Sandy Hook.  

© 2012, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved Photo credit ~ by Ralf Rolescheck via Wikipedia under GNU Free Documentation License