The Hit

We were in the same city when you died.
I didn't know until hours after arriving home
when I saw the pictures,
saw you,
I didn't understand.

Wade, I thought it was your birthday.

Forgive me for not crying for you
I, unlike lightning have lost my ability to connect myself
to the ground,
to you.

This poem was written as a way for me to get money
to go to a college that you never got the chance to attend
in the city where you died.

I promise you that I will make something of myself
that I will use music
and help teach people to grieve and move on 

Because you taught me this. 

There is always a way to move on
and even though both you and our community took a hit,
we are surviving.

I am surviving.