Growing up, I never really got along with any of the kids in the neighborhood. All I really had to count on was my little sister Phoebe, and my brother Allie. Allie died a couple of years ago from leukemia. But his memory still lives on in the baseball mitt he left behind. . .
My brother Allie was a very
poetic person. He would
always write poems on his
baseball mitt. I always wished I
could write poems like he did
but I never had the talent he did.
Allie would take a marker and
compose his poems between innings,
after school, in bed, or at the mall.
It never mattered where.
Allie would w…
