A Death at Chaco Canyon
On a hazy summer morning fraught with dread,
my two-year-old son slipped over the edge
and landed soundlessly in the dust below.
The sun shivered. The moon moaned.
Ladders clattered and shouts bounced across rock.
Later they laid his tiny body on a stone slab,
draped fragile flowers around his crushed neck,
sobbed in the stifling heat—but I could do nothing.
My mouth was still open in a silent scream.
my two-year-old son slipped over the edge
and landed soundlessly in the dust below.
The sun shivered. The moon moaned.
Ladders clattered and shouts bounced across rock.
Later they laid his tiny body on a stone slab,
draped fragile flowers around his crushed neck,
sobbed in the stifling heat—but I could do nothing.
My mouth was still open in a silent scream.
Sarah Sullivan is a graduate nursing student at the University of Virginia.
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