Oh dear god
What happened to her son?
They haven't said who shot him because they'll never really have to
They're still piecing things together
Still questioning the witnesses
Everything's a process
The process is a circus
I'm still waiting for his name
I want to recognize the taste
My friend John was there
More of a friend of a friend
But he described the way he went so specifically limp
And the way his torso doubled over;
His eyes so impossibly ripe
And what he started saying stopped making any sense
But I heard him
And I still do
They all make the same agonizing sound
Young bodies all crack and contort the same way
When they fall against the pavement
It's getting harder to differentiate
I'm groping toward conclusions
I'm exhausted, I'm trying to gain perspective
On why I've spent the last year being moved into the basement
My sister-in-law always has an alibi
A story or a place to be
Of an inevitability her parents warned her of since she could barely speak
That was never me
That will never be
I just want to understand without deviating from my place
I want to be him noticing his shirt sticking to his stomach
His stuttering in disbelief as he falls backward onto the yard
Their friends at school who sprint across the blacktop to reach the safety of their parents' cars
Their older brothers
Swimming coaches
Family friends
Presents at home
Vertical timelines
All the bluest scars
Someone is asking you if any of this is real
Someone is telling you that they love you too