You know I used to go to that Wendy’s
before they rebuilt it. Sometimes
after a long shift serving beer to people
who looked down on me, down my shirt.
Blue lights at that BP, the Exxon across the street.
I’d wonder if it was warranted—as another car
pulled up, another boot stepped out.
I’d wonder if it was one of my neighbors.
A few years ago we considered moving back,
closer to dear friends, church, work. To introduce
my little boy to the city that formed me.
I wonder if you might have been my neighbor,
if your wife and I would have talked across
the driveway to one another or on each other’s
porches in the summer. If you’d have brought
macaroni and cheese to the Easter party.
I wonder how many sons I drove by.
Face down, praying and pleading—
wondering if they should run,
calling out to their mothers.
In Hindu mythology there is a story
about a princess—a mother who loved her
son so much that when she gazed upon
her baby boy—her eldest child—it made him
invincible in battle. I wish your mother
could have done that for you. I wish
the love of a mother was enough to ensure
her baby made it home each night.
–
Sunita Theiss is a writer and communications professional. A second-generation Indian-American and an Atlanta native, she now lives and works north of her home city with her family. Sunita’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in MER VOX, Gordon Square Review, Pine Hills Review, Jaggery, and others.