In memory of D.C. 2003-2022

We met when we were young.

Church kids counting the hours

down to the last minute

Sunday school lasted,

when parents would come to collect

their children from the bullpen

that was nursery.

Then, constant Sunday Wednesday meetings

turned to Sunday Monday Wednesday

since we started gymnastics.

Jumping, leaping, flapping limbs

to the dissatisfaction

of the disgruntled “coach”.

But different years born

meant different church classes.

Different chapters taught,

with different material memorized.

We drifted, but stayed cool

cuz that what church kids do

living with so much space between.

When news came describing

your final moments

possessing your meat mech body,

tears were not shed

during the drive home.

But time trapped by capitalist labor,

missing supporting your survivors,

tears pour down my face

as I grieve the friend I’ll see again.