Our little world had its share of tragedies, too.
Robbie Bennett
The Bennetts lived just half a block away.
When Father Flynn came knocking on their door
one sweltering August afternoon, we knew
for sure this wasn’t just another day.
Their restless eldest boy had joined the Corps,
his visits back home tense and short and few;
the other one, the timid younger son,
was hiking at the tubs near Laurel Run.
He’d lost his footing on a boulder wet
with algae; others said he took a dare.
None of us will ever quite forget
that feral keen sent ripping through the air,
our monstrous mix of respite and regret
as Father Flynn led all of us in prayer.
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