Her Guardian

Ren Graham, Senior

Nothing remains there.


Only four charred posts,

Nailed into the flesh of rotten soil.


Left-handed tools uprooted from the site.

Two little girls play and collect.

Oblivious to their meaning.


A fire so hot the knob melted.

Thank God she couldn’t open the door.


A song played that would never be of use again.


The lab found proof, yet THEY said “put it to rest.”

An unjust death for an unjust crime.


On Thanksgiving, he bid farewell,

Walking past the bathroom window towards the road.

Everyone saw him,

Yet not a soul alive moved.


A man got out of the car wandering,

“Who sat on the roof?”


He jumped down.

Standing full height,



She called him,

Her Guardian.