To my brother, To me, To the world.

Alexandra Cross

Instructor’s Introduction

In WR 153: All Poetry Is Political, students read the work of contemporary poets who draw attention to social and political issues, often by exploring the interplay between personal experience and political realities. Students also write their own collection of poetry centered around something they see as a genuine problem or concern.

Alex Cross’s poetry collection To my brother, To me, To the world. comes from a deeply personal experience, the death of her brother shortly before she arrived at BU. In her impressive final project, Alex grapples with what it means for the world to dim and brighten, to diminish and expand, simultaneously. To my brother, To me, To the world. speaks into these complexities and makes palpable the awkwardness of social encounters, the heft of grief, and the necessity of hope. Alex’s poems are not magically transformative or therapeutic. They “fac[e] the storm” and “find the rainbows”; they demand recognition of the hard and unpredictable work that is grieving, which can be expressed by the simple formulation “You left, I stayed,” but in reality is so much more. Through the poignant inclusion and repetition of her brother’s name, “Barry Cross III,” Alex shows us that poetry can go some way toward registering the individual, human toll of the opioid epidemic. We also see how that toll inflects the lives of family members and loved ones. To my brother, To me, To the world. reveals how “the things that shape us are rarely the things the world sees.” 

Jessica Bozek

From the Writer

On July 31st, 2024, Barry Cross III, my brother, passed away from a fentanyl overdose. No less than a month later, I packed up my life and moved out of state to start college. I keep getting asked, “Do you have any siblings?” and that question unraveled something in me. It made me think about how often we are all asked questions that have hidden truths. And it made me wonder why we shrink our truths for the sake of social ease. It made me think about how grief shows up in the most casual moments, and how we’re not taught how to talk about it, especially when it’s unresolved or complicated. 

This project was born from a place of silence, growing up in a house filled with tension, absence, addiction, and the silence of moving to college, where no one knew my story. Though rooted in my own story, this piece is intended for anyone navigating the struggle of holding onto emotional truths in a world that often demands clean answers. It is for those who live in the in-between spaces, the “yes, but no,” the “I’m okay, but not really.” It is a reminder that healing and progress are never a straight line, and that there is strength in speaking, even when it is quiet.

To my brother, To me, To the world.

To my brother

To my brother, Barry, there was a gap between us that could never be filled. We were opposites. You had blue eyes, I have brown. You left, I stayed. You were older, I was wiser. But you were still my brother. 

You are far too young for your story to be over, but I know you are in a better place now. A place where you do not have to chase; a place of peace. A place where we will one day meet again. And I can say I have a brother.

Do you have any siblings? 

A simple question
With a complicated answer 

Why lie to someone trying to get to know me
Why tell the truth to someone I just met 

A simple question
That makes my heart pound
And my hands shake 

“Do you have any siblings?” 

“No”
But I wasn’t always an only child 

“Yes”
But I am an only child now 

A simple question
A question meant to spark conversation 

But how deep do we go?
When is the right time to break the ice? 

To tell the truth
To share a story 

A simple question
With a complicated answer
I am still trying to find

Barry Cross III 

I can accept the things that have happened 

I can count the hurdles that have been jumped
I can trace the mountains that have been climbed 

But I can’t seem to let go of the things
That will never happen 

It’s like trying to follow the wind
Or hold a beam of sun
Or catch a ghost 

How do you grieve
The idea of a person? 

How do you forget
The things that will never happen? 

How do you recall the past
When you know there is no future? 

When you know
There will never be a 

Barry Cross IV

To my younger self

To my younger self, just keep holding on. You live a life of cop cars and ambulances making too many appearances at the house. You live a life with the ghost of a brother; moving at his own pace, disappearing unannounced. You live a life where no one understands the things going on at home. You live your life in silence. 

But one day you will share your story. One day, you will find the strength. One day, you will find people who will take some of the weight off your shoulders. One day, you will be okay.

11:11 

I spend my time searching for wishes
Fallen eyelashes to blow off a finger
Fountains to throw pennies in
Clocks that read 11:11 

I spend my time searching for hope
Proof that all will be okay

Speak Light Into Me 

I don’t need a miracle
Just a moment
A sentence softer than silence 

I am not asking for applause
And I’m tired of pity looks 

Just a reminder that I’m more than capable
That my words carry weight 

That I belong at the table
Even when I second-guess my own seat 

Don’t flatter me
Don’t pity me
Speak light into me 

So I know I’m not going unnoticed
Even when I get lost in the dark

“Everything happens for a reason” 

Words meant to encourage
to cast away a dark spell
a reminder of the light
at the end of the tunnel
that is supposed to come 

But it’s a passive way of thinking 

Does everything really have to happen?
Some things just suck
Some things are just awful
And sometimes
there is no reason 

Yes, things happen
There are forces we cannot control
but not everything 

And yes, we get through the darkness
We push through the sucky and awful things
But that doesn’t just happen 

I am here for a reason
because I endured
because I pushed through

Every Cloud has a Silver Lining 

It’s not about pretending everything is okay
It’s not about erasing the storm 

It’s about remembering
to look for the light
somewhere
behind the clouds 

Because within every darkness
something waits 

perspective
lessons
opportunity 

Things you cannot see yet
Things easily missed
when your eyes stay fixed on the dark 

It’s about being brave
Facing the storm 

And still searching
for a

sliver of silver

To the world

To the world, you are who you are because of the things you have gone through. I am who I am because of the things I have gone through. Behind every person are the moments that almost stopped them and the moments that pushed them forward. 

Everyone has a story. Take a moment to tell yours. Take a moment to listen to others. 

Because the things that shape us are rarely the things the world sees.

Critical Afterword

In this collection, I wanted to explore the complicated layers of grief that come from losing someone who was both present and perpetually distant in one’s life. For me, that was my brother. This is not a neat story of healing or closure. It’s a story of silence, questions, small moments, and emotional messiness. It’s a story I’ve been carrying for a long time. I didn’t set out to write a collection about grief, but as I wrote, that was the main topic that kept coming back to me. 

This collection was written in pieces, over time, never in one sitting. Some of them came out as reflections, some as poems, some as mantras to remind myself to keep going. I did not have much of a plan for the shape of it. I wanted to give voice to the parts of grief that don’t always make it into conversation: the awkwardness, the waiting, the hope that quietly lingers under the surface. I wanted to challenge the idea that grief has an endpoint or is a checklist. Sometimes grief is a presence, not an absence. 

For me, this was about finding language where there was once only silence. I hope that for someone else, it’s a kind of mirror. Maybe not a perfect one, but one that reflects something they’ve felt and didn’t know they were allowed to say. I hope it encourages others to speak their truths, especially the ones that don’t fit neatly into conversation. This is for my brother. This is for myself. And this is for everyone trying to answer simple questions with complicated answers.

Alexandra “Alex” Cross is a sophomore at Boston University’s Sargent College of Health and Rehabilitation Sciences, studying Behavior and Health on a pre-physical therapy track. Her academic interests center on understanding how psychology, environment, and social factors shape health behaviors and overall well-being. Alex is especially interested in the ways movement, mindfulness, and community can support both physical and mental health. Alex enjoys teaching yoga sculpt, exploring different forms of movement, drawing, and writing. Her writing through poetry is a way to give voice to experiences that are often difficult to put into words.