Shots In The Night

The shots were fired two thousand miles away.
I didn't even hear them - but she did.
As we talked, the phone lines conveyed the fear and
    concern which suddenly exploded into immediate reality.

Her concern was for her neighbors - a woman screaming,
    dogs barking their excitment, fear. Could she help -
    Should she? --- more shots - a telephone call
    to the police. I lost contact.

She called me back. The woman was still screaming - dogs still barking.
    My concerned friend wanted to go outside - out back -
    within the fenced in sanctuary
    where she could be closer - but hopefully still safe.

I was afraid that she might go - implored her not to.
The black friend at her feet no longer barked. By his silence
    he now convinced her of the seriousness of this night.
    She did not go out. The screaming stopped.

My thoughts went back to one not to distant evening,
    a late night call, a frantic cry for help. Help to calm the frightened,
    almost desperate friend who had regretably
    walked down the alley on her way to the store.

I remember, too, the horror of another night  - another place
    in the same city, the story too powerfully hateful to relate.
    I remember - I know she remembers -
    can never forget. --- And I am afraid for her.

Afraid that the future may fatefully reflect the past.
Then she will leave me - and I will cease to exist.
Do I cry for the fearful her - the one so concern
    about others - or do I cry for myself?

How selfish I must be...