My dead boy is at Staples Center,
a forward for the Lakers
in the last quarter 
lightning fast, that trademark
cross-over dribble
down the court, passing to Kobe
who passes to Magic
who flicks it back to Josh who
saves the game in overtime with
a bank shot from heaven.  

That’s how I want to 
remember him, on the court
where he was happiest. 
Even after the amputation to save
his life, even after the cancer 
hit him again, full-court press,
he remained firmly planted 
in the game, even with 
such a big chunk 
of him gone.

It’s almost night, the sky an
incandescent Laker purple
that always gives me hope
my boy’s standing on the 
far side of the court, 
ready to run to me, hug me 
with both arms, tell me,
“Mama, really, it’s not so bad 
being dead at 26.”

Bio: Alexis Rhone Fancher