Rebecca Burtram

ON THE PASSING OF A FORMER STUDENT

When I look into their faces as I read them the poem, I still see the young man (who was almost constantly in a cast of some sort) sitting in a middle school classroom. I see his energy and exuberance in their young and promising eyes, and my heart breaks again… and again… and again.

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COVER ME

I had almost missed her soft whisper as I left her room: “Cover me, Mama.” The words gripped me as I pulled the blankets up to her chin. She gave me the words I have been trying to find to express the emotions stirring within me the past couple of weeks.

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