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