Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

The Drug-pusher Friend Speaks

by Sheryl St. Germain

His mother called me the day after he died in my house.
She was crying, shouting, saying I’d killed her son,

that I’d sold him drugs, that I might as well
have stuck the needle in him myself.

She said she hoped I would die.

She said someone should kill me.

I said he got the stuff from some homeless person.

I said I was an addict.

I said he was an addict.

I said he was my friend.