Rain Rising

Xander would take me to the park during the summertime.

Mom didn’t work as much then.

Instead

she would sleep.

And Mom slept a lot at the shelter.

So Xander would be the one to take me out.

 

“We’re going to the park,” Xander would say.

“But I ain’t got nothing to wear,” I’d complain.

“You mean, you don’t have anything to wear,” he’d correct me.

He’d give me one of his T-shirts, which would go all the way down my knees.

“See how fly you look, Rain-drop? You’re as fly as me now.”

He’d smile wide and I’d believe him.

 

[…]

 

Mom has to miss a whole lot of work

to visit Xander during the day

and sleep next to me during the night.

Because I can’t sleep alone anymore.

Because I’m afraid.

 

Although Mom allows me to stay home from school

I don’t go with her to see him.  I can’t,

Even when I try,  I can’t.

If I stand to go,  I can’t move.

My legs won’t move. So I sit back down.

And try not to think of how broken he looked.

How much he didn’t look like Xander.

But it’s hard.

Because God gave us memory

of even the things we don’t want to remember.