You Were Never Home for Long
On Friday, April 22, 2016, three months after my brother’s third release from S. Wilder Youth Development Center, he was rushed to the ER after being shot in the heart.
’ cause the streets is what I know. I’m not saying it was right to do, but if I could go back in time, would I change my life? No. I would just do the same thing, but do it smarter.
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I’m stockpiling sweaters because they signify refuge, collecting them like talismans though grief cannot be avoided.
I whisper to my great-grandmother a burden I’d like lifted, one she might take to the next world with her.
Maybe, over time, the ephemera of Jack’s life will become less explosive, like a landmine whose triggering mechanism has eroded, rendering it harmless.