What We Can’t Say

Today, a man got stabbed in my neighbourhood. On a road I cross almost daily, a road I had crossed just an hour before someone else did, someone who had a knife in their hand.

And a man got stabbed there, in daylight, late on a Sunday afternoon. He got stabbed, and he died on that road. 

Next of kin have been informed.

A post mortem examination will take place in due course.

No arrests; enquiries continue.

That’s what they say.

We have no words for what it feels like for a blade to slide into a man. 

No words for the expression in his mother’s face when she opens the door to police officers.

Nothing we could say for the one who had to declare him dead at the scene,

after trying to get his heart to beat again.

No words.


I saw this on a walk today, and someone stopped to tell me it’s called

Love Lies Bleeding

(Amaranthus Caudatus).

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