with the knowing
in memory of my beloved nephew, Sean Patrick Arey,
who chose to remove himself from this planet February 28, 2001
two and a half decades before this
godawful month arrived a
darkness gripped his neighborhood:
moms, dads, and kids of all ages search
each white-birched, pined backyard
near-white faces look up and down his street
wide eyes walk the edges of the lake
beneath where he sleeps at night
in his own hiding place
his gray-streaked-black-haired mama
finds him and weeps
yesterday I received word again
we’ve lost Sean:
my body convulses with the knowing
and I wish to God we could turn back time
to find our precious innocent one asleep
unaware that outside his very bedroom walls
the world searches for him
from the wall-less-ness of wide-sky country
I remember the black-haired baby I cuddled
the dark-eyed little boy I played with
the pimply-faced kid who saved my son
the gray-streaked-black-haired daddy of three
and I weep and know
how you look at a brilliant orange sun
resting at the end of the prairie
and you turn to the east or to the north
when maybe you shouldn’t have turned at all
because you look up a second later
and the sun’s gone
first published in The Awakenings Review