Tattered Memories

Tattered Memories
For Noah

The letter speaks of loss.

There on a tattered

paper,

folded again and again,

the assignment you never handed in

speaks truth.

Your words,

already a year old,

to a future self,

tear my soul.

There you dared to whisper

your confusion about God,

your frustration with school,

your fears about this country’s leader,

and the darkness in your soul.

I touch the words with the tired hands

of a mother struggling to help,

grateful to have reached in time.

Her little blonde and laughing boy,

one hand in a puddle,

and one hand in the cheerios,

so quickly a young man,

one hand on the paper,

one hand on the pen.