My neighbor’s son

goes to school in the Bronx’s

and each morning he leaves

she wonders if he will come back.

 

My neighbor’s son

hangs out at night in Brooklyn

and each night he goes out

she wonders if he will come back.

 

My neighbor’s son

goes to the Baptist church downtown

the same one his best friend went too

before he was gun down by the police

after service one night for mistaking identity

and each Wednesday night he goes

she wonders if he will come back.

 

My neighbor’s son

just celebrated his nineteenth birthday

and has survived the New York streets

he has come home every night

until now, my neighbor’s son has gone to war

he has refused to go to college

instead he has gone to fight in Iraq.

                                              

My neighbor is now weeping

lost in the present memories of her son

looking into the valley of the city

where she has raised him into a man.

She no longer wonders or ponder the question

that has burned inside her thoughts for years

 

My neighbor’s son

has come back from warfare draped in the American flag

stiff/bruised/bloody/eyes wide opened

missing an arm, barefooted, sleeping inside a black bag.

my neighbor is now weeping

no longer wondering if her son will come back home.