For Abshir, on this sunlit day

What kind of a world is this

Where young men call their friends in the wee hours

To tell of a brother shot dead 

At the kerbside ?

 I find out from 

An app alert

And hope 

that it isn't you

Naah, I say

Surely there's more

Of your name, Abshir 

Though I knew that

There's just one you

Who found time to chat between classes

And apologized for a late response to an email 

just a few months ago

I hope and 

block out 

all questions swirling 

like fallen leaves 

through my scattered mind

But confirmations come

"Our Abshir?" I ask

And a response: yes, 

our Abshir!

then the numb hollow

In my heart

In this 

tortured, 

twisted 

space

An email mocks me 

My inbox, 

With your heartfelt words 

Just like at

Winters and TEL

"I'll come to your class someday

I promise"

Come to my class today

You did, Abshir 

we 

taught 

poetry 

together

Like 

we'd 

planned to

Me, trapped in this

Heavy cage of bones

And you, 

a wisp of mist

This sunshine day

already a memory

What kind of place is this

Where we mourn 

young men

Dead before their time

What 

kind 

of place 

is 

this? 

July 8th, 2014(c)

Parking lot of summer school