in memory of Kenneth Eric Adams
By RAHN ADAMS
Every fall and winter I go back / to 1976 and 1977 when I was 17, / a senior in high school, / big brother to a little boy / who suffered more than he deserved.
It had been the Bicentennial, / a year of celebrating our freedom; / but summer was over, / and on the 1st of October / the march toward January 17 began.
After I hung up the telephone, / all I could think to do / was run over to our little white church, / fall down at the altar / and pray for his cancer to be cured.
I wanted some sign from God / that he had heard my plea / for my brother to be healed, / and that he might survive the knives / and the fire and all that poison.
I flipped open my Bible / to the longest of the Psalms; / and my unaimed finger fell on the 17th verse: / “I shall not die, but live, / and declare the works of the Lord.” Yes!
But on the 17th of January / I learned that the promise I had read / referred not to my little brother / but to me, as it traded my heaven / for the hell of wait and see.
Sending love and hugs to you and Timberley!!!
And also to you, Emily! (You need to run for something again.)