Where He Died - by Leslie McBain

Where He Died

by Leslie McBain

I have hated this building.

The ugly white box of it

on Cook and Bay, sitting there as if

nothing had ever happened inside its walls.

Its dumpster overflows onto the dusty parking lot,

its shabby little quack grass yard hedged by boxwood,

as if my son had not died in its rooms.

I drive by to hate this building, to put a hex

on its blank eyed windows shuttered with skewed mini blinds,

to blame it for my pain.

But yesterday I drove into the parking lot,

got out, stared up at the window, THE window.

I saw that this chunk of wood and concrete and glass

with its peeling paint, its entrance littered with Canadian tire fliers,

its mailboxes with unreadable names,

sheltered my son, gave him refuge and place.

Young and old with few resources

and a shitty credit rating can rent here.

The landlord is kind. Dogs are allowed.

Homeless folks clear the dumpster

of edibles and refundables.

I spray painted the words hope and love everywhere

I helped the raggedy man get the beer cans into a bag

I swept the steps, put love letters in each mailbox

I greeted the residents as they stumbled home

after a day of life

I told them, love this place, it is like a mother.

Leslie McBain’s son Jordan died from toxic drug poisoning.

She is one of the co-founders of Moms Stop The Harm