she prays regular

they found him
slumped over by the back fence
where he used to dump
the pea hulls after shellin’
them with her
under the carport
‘neath the fishin poles.

the gun was still
layin’ there on the ground
in the tall summer grass

He wasn’t her first grandchild
or the only boy
but he was the one
that needed her most.
In her simple understanding
and limited experience of affection,
need was synonymous with love.
So, he was the one that
loved her the most.

When she came to
they tried to tell her
there was no one to blame
but him. She screamed in rage.
Pointed her finger,
assured the officers
that ‘the coloreds’ from
down in the projects
had done this to him.

She buried him nicely.
Too full of anger and indignation
to cry. Too hot in a Georgia July
to linger over his grave.

It’s been 20 years now.
She makes quilts for needy ones.
Still shells peas in the summer.
Volunteers with the church.
Goes to prayer supper every Wednesday night
prays for his soul and tells anyone that’ll
listen that the Sheriff is still workin’ with her
on findin’ the colored boys that did this to her baby.

We each do what we must
to bear the lines
of our story.