Everywhere I go I see your face. I look for you in the crowd. I thought I saw you online once in someone’s part pics, wide-eyed and frightened. It of course wasn’t you. We buried you in the rain. Sweet smells of damp, fresh turned soil. We stood beneath the new cement and tin-roofed pavilion in March. The iris on your coffin were beautiful and deep, just enough for your boys to take one each. And Daddy came home twice that year, each time lost. No father should have to bury his son. No sister should have to watch her brother die in pain. But we did, and we live on. I gave the boys your things and left the rest. I have your high school ring and wear it sometimes, the emerald starburst shining and deep, mesmeric. We had our trials and tribulations. Once you came clean, we even had our talks, and learned not to judge. ~I love you, bubba, peach.