Tire Fragments.

dear tommy,

it rained for 28 minutes. i counted water
droplets trickling the window
while the priest told us how
you were. he did not mention the
smooth, dark skin of your
forearm, the cut of your jaw, or
how your hand always found mine,
black on white.
i wrote bad words in the hymnal for
you, and thought about your ears.

dear tommy,

sometimes people ask me why i
cried when i heard the news. "you didn't
even know him," they say, "and
besides, he's just a worthless piece
of black trash."
but i did know you. i know i met you
when i blew a tire, and you asked
me to collect the fragments so
you could use them in a collage. i
know you read kafka and nietzsche
by flashlight, i know
how your mouth felt, fingertips,
shoulderskneesbody. i know
you loved me and it was
not wrong.

and so i respond
"i don't know,"
and i think about
how they don't know,

dear tommy,

at night your parents stay up
and wonder why god had to
take away their son, and
who keeps leaving letters
and tire fragments on
your grave.

Poetry by Inked.
Read 1569 times
Written on 2007-03-01 at 02:06

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Ivan R
Just marvelous ... so great, ... youth speaking elder knowledge of life, and all that, .. wow.

i think the fact that i've just read and analyzed "to kill a mockingbird" makes me read this differently.

Christian Ward
This is rather good

your mastery of language is impressive, the reader feels every emotion put in by the writer

great stuff as always