fresh

             barefoot
              hot steamy mud
             squishing up between her toes
             more oozing
               with each step.
             that's how her death was...
                  fresh.
             her death...
              it was his death,
                 really.
             he had died...
                months ago
             but   it still felt like
                  her death,
                  her own.
             she couldn't distinguish...
             she couldn't outrun the pain
                  that pursued,
                 the shadows that cornered
                  and strangled.
             she couldn't distinguish
              anymore
             between his death and hers.
               it was so fresh.
              this mud,
              this death
             that kept on oozing
                between her toes.