If my son died in a car crash this afternoon, who is the boy in my house, eating my food?

She watched the blood drain from his face. With a single forsaken fingertip, she closed his eyes one final time.

The girl was too young to feel fear- and therfore fearless.

The mother faced her fears- and she was brave.

Running winds,

Pounding skies,

As the bird slowly falls down,

Its majestic, white wings,

Painting the ocean below red

Mold splotched in the ceiling above the rotting desks in which the students sat, staring at their phones, ignoring everything.

Wings born white, sweet and true.

Plucked and torn, penance due.

Grew again, strong and dark.

Everything leaves a mark.