I never look. A
contract offered up between
me and my past, "If
I don't look, then I won't see.
Then that grief stuffed
deep in my back
pocket won't spread to
anyone else. Pain averted."
An agreement five years strong,
broken during the course
of one red stop light.
I looked. (What, what, what made me look?)
They came out, a man
maybe 40 and a boy, maybe ten.
The man in jeans, thinner than a man
should be, like a man who doesn't
care about food anymore. The boy,
in a baseball uniform, a red
cap, straight from
living his young life.
The man took four steps
and then sat down on the curb, on
the edge of the street. He wept with
the force of a century, no,
the millennium.
The boy stood three feet away
looking down, looking away,
looking at the man, looking at me.
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six foot skinny
Writer to the Stars
Zyskandar Jaimot
Mary Ann Farley
thatdamnbob
Grannypower
Salon.com
Comments
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I have to admit, I wish I hadn't seen it... it can't be erased, you know? That boy. That weeping... it's all resting front and center in my mind tonight.
I don't know what I would have done without Hospice when my Dad was told he had terminal cancer. I am that little boy in the red baseball uniform.
Father's day.
Tears...
ohhhh, MJwycha... now I feel like I kinda know that little boy. You're breaking my heart.
Thanks for reading, Joan. I remember that same feeling - wondering how the world could go one while we were saying good-bye to my Dad.
Julie, yeah. It really was. I saw them for what, thirty seconds? Maybe less... and here I am writing a poem about it.
Perhaps your ability to make that happen is what made you look. And we're better off for it.
FYI - I just revised the poem a little. When I posted it the other night, it was after writing it very quickly and with little editing. It needed a little work. It might be done now... maybe.
a life is never done
you are brave
and this is lovely
Not hate, I agree
I saw him weeping
You share clearly
I've sensed grief
a world partied
that penetrated
Arthur, I love it when you visit here. Thank you.
That image, like the one you’ve shared in this poem, will remain with me, further instructing me in compassion. Thank you for having the courage to look, and for witnessing on behalf of the suffering.
—Melissa
My goal with this poem was not just to share what I saw, but to honor that brief moment in words. Hopefully I accomplished that to even a small degree.
If I don't look, then I won't see"
Great job!
Duane, yes. When I moved into this neighborhood five years ago and started living just a few blocks from the hospice, I became very determined about never looking. I have no idea why I looked last week. Thanks for reading.
Hi, j lynne. I know. Basically this poem is 'sadness shared'. I hoped the title warned readers who wanted to be spared a hospice scene. Thanks for reading.
Thanks much for stopping by.