foster care
The boy who left his backpack on the bus every Friday and the old driver who finally followed him home. That was how people in the depot later
The boy at my door kept calling me “Mom”, but my only son had died three years ago. He stood there on the rainy porch, backpack soaked, hair
The boy who rang our doorbell at midnight asking if this was the house that didn’t give children back. I thought I misheard him. It was late, rain