My life was blown apart, decimated
by a bullet that went through my sons
head and exploded into our lives.
The stench of burning flesh permeates
my senses when I go there, and sometimes
I have to go there, have to step where
he stepped and feel what he felt.
I deserve that much, he was my son
and I didn’t know. The explosion
rumbled through my life as it proliferated
into a mushroom cloud, nothing
was recognizable, nothing was retrievable.
I pick up the pieces still and lay them
about me, trying to make them fit into
something recognizable but they never
do. I know about explosions now.
I know about starting over and rebuilding
I know about life now.
November 17, 2009