block by block

In my dream, I visited a city, where each block had a tree decorated with flowers and balloons. When's the party? Or maybe there's going to be a parade? Or perhaps, as in Nigeria, the president is coming to town and people have prettied the place up. Then a neighbor told me of the tradition that when a person dies, the family sets up a memorial at the spot where they were killed.

The dream dissolves and I drive around in a daze. Here, armed men broke into a house and killed the resident after robbing him. Here, a car crashed into a tree while police were in pursuit. Here, a man on a stolen motorcycle lost control. Here, a taxi driver was shot on a Sunday morning while the church across the street was singing Alleluia. Here, a jealous boyfriend dispatched his competition. Here, a nine year old girl crossing the street after buying candy was hit by a truck. Here, a barfight ended with a knife. Here, a car collided with an 8 year old boy in a crosswalk, his parents just out of reach of his hands to pull him to safety. Here, the foul odor tipped off neighbors to the body stuffed in the trunk. Here, an evening stroll was cut short by gun shot. Here, a basketball game was lost, as was a life.

My neighborhood is a rosary of sorrows and at each station of the cross I pause to remember the suffering.