No one saw who stole
your name, only the white
left behind, stark against gray
one November visit after another
could never erase.

Someone sold your name,
fed your name to a child,
snorted your name from a plastic bag,
puked your name into a cardboard box
on a sidewalk.

You were only a name
when I was born, and now
only its ghost on stone remains.
It is no consolation,
it is not even justice,

but perhaps your name
had more life than you knew.