Song for Memaw
We visited him for years in prison. His exposed arms told unspeakable stories through the glass that separated us. Tattoos that covered most of his body, each a badge representing something unique about the victims. Decades ago, he’d married a young country girl. She loved flowers, dancing, and spring. What she loved more anything, though, were the hummingbirds. He left her with children to raise on her own. The children had children, and they had their own. Now and then he’d send her letters about tattoos he’d had done, unaware of his soon-to-be-born great-grandson. She’d put the past behind her, then one day the mail arrived. Memaw read his last letter with no tear, no cry to be heard. They both passed the same day, when the newest was born. The new baby boy had a birthmark resembling a hummingbird.