Distant echoes

The devastating sound
Of footsteps
Rapidly retreating

Ricochet

In the middle of the night
When my son was an infant
I'd get back into bed
Having gone to the bathroom
Or let the cat out
Half an hour later
I'd just be drifting off to sleep
And he would awaken
Something having echoed
In his mind

The night my mother died
I'd gotten up and wandered
Into the living room
I saw the light on
In her bedroom
I reached for the door handle
Thinking I'd turn off her light
Then I thought
Nah, I'll wake her up
And she'll be angry
So I went back to bed

I don't remember hearing the shot
But something
Must have echoed in my mind
As the bullet lodged in hers

Goal!

I hear the shouts
Out the window
GOAL!
I think of the afternoon
Pacing nervously in front of the television
With your infant son in your arms
When you yelled GOAL!
At the top of your lungs
And terrified him
Into a bout of inconsolable crying
And think of the things
That made you happy
That gave you joy
And the terror you felt
When you knew
You were dying
That you could not express
That we could not express
Then the joy that you had given us