Gang Land killings. Oh My Child

Gang Land killings. Oh My Child

held my little boy last night,

his small fists curling into my shirt,

tears pooling in the quiet spaces

between his sobs and my silence.

He called for his daddy—

again, again—

a name too heavy

for his soft, round mouth

to bear alone.

I rocked him,

though the world felt still,

whispered gentle lies of “soon”

and “sleep, my love,”

though sleep was a stranger

to us both.

How do you tell a child

that the arms he longs for

are now only shadows,

that the voice he seeks

has joined the wind

outside his window?

So I held him closer,

until his cries

melted into the quiet ache

of a night

too long for either of us.

A two-year-old doesn’t understand death.

How do I explain it to him?

Gang violence kills not just the person,

but the whole family too.