The ghost bike sits on the corner
where the angel flew away
with the diva beneath her wing.
It wasn’t a peaceful departure.
It was harsh and abrupt in its sweep
not like when an angel waits by a bedside
for weeks. This time it came with
the crash of a minivan into a bicycle,
leaving behind a story for cops to write
in white on black.
That’s how I read it the next day
and for weeks thereafter.
Even after the snows came and went,
I could still see where the angel left her halo,
coming and going as fast as she did.
And I still could see the shadow of
of her life there within that halo,
not shiny and dark like on that June morning,
but just as dark in my heart, there next to
the white bicycle and the flowers for the diva.
On June 6, 2007 Diva De Loayza died in a tragic accident near my home. Mollie and I passed the police accident investigation lines on our morning walk the day after and every day for months. Those lines, and the young woman’s blood on the blacktop, affected me for years.
Today, on the anniversary of her death, I “wrote it out”