Not a woman’s way, not like that. My deer rife, and her half-pint.
Both still on seat.
Way out there by herself. Pills you’d figure or a blade in the tub.
But not like this. First shot you’d think would’ve spooked her.
Her being alone and taking out the back window like it did.
Must of made a hell of a noise.

But she never would back off, that was probably half her problem.
Other half ran deeper. Old and dark, dark as night. Ran that way all her life.
Troopers found her upstate, out there by the lake.
Her pickup hidden by the trees.

Gotta say, always worried, her being my little sis and all.
Guess I can stop my worrying about her, use what I got left
for her kids.

by-Doug Mathewson