Tears For A Fallen Soldier

I shed tears for a fallen soldier
Who was killed in the line of duty
By being in the right place at the wrong time.
Ring…Ring…that’s my cell. It’s my Mom.
‘Hey, how you doing son?’
Cool. Just getting off work.
‘How was your day,’ she asked.
Fine.
‘Anything new going on.’
Not since I talked to you last night.
‘Are you home yet?’
I’m just getting out of the car.
‘I hate to do this over the phone.’
Do what?
‘Your godbrother is dead…is dead…is dead’
It echoes in my head still today.
My brother in god was murdered at the age of 21.
Killed in the line of duty; although he wasn’t in the armed forces.
A fallen soldier, who didn’t have beef with anybody.
A soldier who hadn’t enlisted but enrolled.
Killed on campus, a shot to the temple.
A shot heard by Temple right off Broad Street.
For being Black and trying to do better, someone took his life.
I never thought higher education would have me lower my brother into the ground.
I have trouble remembering his voice, as if the dirt on top of his coffin is blocking it out.
I’m sitting in the church not believing my eyes.
Can’t believe my blurry vision and sweat stained face.
Can’t breathe; the room is closing in.
That’s not him. He’s gonna wake up.
I can’t view the body; so my godmother tucks him in for the last time.
She screams, ‘Why him before me Lord?”
Why?
I hear his cousin sobbing, ‘They killed my family.’
Inside I scream, ‘They killed a piece of me.’
I strip off my jacket and tie and run from the church.
Run from my memories, run from the present, run from GOD.
How could you let one of your soldiers dies?!?
I wait and I wait; until I have to carry your body entombed in steel.
I steal away from this place and remember the trouble we used to get into.
I buried my brother the day before my 22nd birthday.
That night I never wished for anything so hard then for you to have life on Earth.
I bled red blood from black ink as I had your wings etched on my back.
In hopes that one day I can trade you for your halo.
I shed tears for a fallen soldier, who I carry on my back.
So when I read the words ‘NEVER 4GET’ in the mirror,
There’s no more tears left to cry.


R.I.P.
Justin A. Winstead
November 19th, 1982- July 13th, 2004

© July 2004