THAT BOY

He sits by the junction scraped knuckles, half a smile a boy with more scars than years each one a story no one asks to hear. I saw the truth in his trembling vow heard the break in his voice when he said he’d left Kush behind but all they saw was yesterday's face. He carried hope in both hands knocked on doors he once knew but locks remember what hearts won't and no one answered. Now he sits in the same spot half in prayer, half in pain asking time for mercy when people won’t even say his name.