with all he had to offer:temper, grin, abilities,
angel kisses sprinkled on his face.
Super Adam's hero stance,
his tenderness with Grandma Polly
and the little kids who showed
up at the door to see if he, a teen,
was home and willing.
The way he'd take on older guys
when he was just a little one himself
because he knew that they could teach him
how to be a better player,
one day... be a better man.
If only he had had the chance.
A second 16 years have passed, today.
The pillow that his sister cherished
lost his scent so long ago,
his soccer shirts now fit
the namesake nephew that
he never met.
The cut-offs I still wear
from time to time
have holes, the denim worn as thin
as all our understanding
of the reasoning behind it all.
We trust, but still
we miss
and grieve
and love.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2016
