He was athletic, he was shy, he was young. He had a beautiful smile and he had many friends. He was her first born -- the first flower of her garden. He was a good brother -- liked to make fun of his sister.
He was their legacy, their hope and their future. He liked to have fun and school wasn't fun. He liked grilled cheese sandwiches. He was sixteen -- didn't make it to seventeen. He was young and he was beautiful. He had a whole life to live and everything that could have been was not.
In the arms of his father his life was cut short, extinguished. And in her garden, she would never see her first flower bloom.
He was a son, a brother, a cousin and a nephew. He was, he was and he will never be?
Guadalupe Aguilar has been writing poetry since she was 15. She dedicates this piece in memory of her nephew and all those who have died on our streets. Image: Detail from "Memory, Loss, Desire" by: Myrna Smernoff