Tag Archives: grief

~Jenunine.

I see a teenage boy
sitting across from me
mind and soul
trapped in a broken body;
multiple strokes have left him
a prisoner

using art and technology
we communicate
silently
sometimes I wonder
if I had never asked this question,
would he have ever shared his thoughts
would there be someone to listen–
to draw him out of himself?

his knuckles are gnarled
with the scars of anger
the righteous rage
of a life unjust
of being a prisoner of his own flesh
of being overlooked
ignored
made fun of
all while still possessing a sound mind

a rogue tear trickles down his cheek
as he types out his story, one key at a time
and I cry*:
Oh-oh-Child, ho-old on
I see your tears
I hear your voice
Oh-oh Child, ho-old on

I see a young woman
at the check-out counter
her eyes lined in black
tracing the place
where her soul used to shine
she barely looks up
as she scans my things

I notice the
pinstripe pattern of pain
running up her arms—
the swollen red-purple remnants
an echo of her emptiness

our eyes meet briefly
as she hands me my bag,
I can almost
taste the hurt that as no where else to go–
she says, “have a nice day”
and I cry:
Oh-oh Child, ho-old on
I see your scars
I feel your ache
oh-oh, Child, hold on

I see a man
placing flowers by a stone
his wrinkled hands
shaking as he tenderly
clears the leaves and grass
from where her name is carved,
he waters the earth with his tears
yet in vain do they fall
for they cannot coax life
back into she whom he adores

their love was epic
of almost mythical proportions
no child could they bear
so they nurtured all they met
and hundreds called their house, home

she went too early
they couldn’t make her better;
he shuffles about an empty house
and memories—
of the life they lived
and the love they gave
doing both with reckless abandon—
echo through now vacant rooms

his chest heaves a sigh
that seems to weigh a thousand pounds
and I cry:
Oh-oh Child, ho-old on
I see your sorrow
I know your grief
oh-oh Child, ho-old on

I see a mother
on the bus
a threadbare sweater
covers a faded uniform
hung on a withered frame

her shift is done
but her day is hardly over
there’s homework to be checked
and laundry to be folded
hungry mouths to feed
and a toilet to repair
the baby has been coughing
and her brother needs new shoes
the landlord is impatient
and her paycheck runs out too soon
the roaches are her roommates
and the Whiskey is her lover

she’s all alone
and wondering just how
she got to where she is
she remembers a girl
who once had a plan
who was gonna make it out someday
then she found
her one true love
and they dreamed new dreams together
but stray bullets flew
and blew him away
and with him went all dreams—
now only nightmares remain

her lips tremble
as they hold a cigarette
her eyes flutter shut and
she takes a slow drag
and I cry:
Oh-oh Child, ho-old on
I see you’re weary
I hear your prayers
oh-oh Child, ho-old on

I see a man
sitting in a cell
contemplating the life he lives
and the life he will never know

one mistake–
so foolish
so fatal
made as a drunken teen
cost him his freedom
for life.
without the possibility of parole.

he writes to make sense
he writes to redeem
he writes to teach others
he writes to remember
he writes to stay alive

he does what he can
to bring hope and healing
to his 6 x 8 foot world–and beyond
he helped bring honor to the yard,
a new standard of doing time

he thinks of his wife and daughter
and how they’re serving his sentence too
a life without husband
a life without father
without the possibility of parole

he sighs as he stretches
massaging too-quickly aged joints
and I cry
oh-oh Child, ho-old on
I see you there
I hear your plea
oh-oh Child, ho-old on!

I see myself
in this looking glass
a hundred year old soul
gazing back at me
I wonder if I’ll make it through
if all these dreams I have
will flourish

I wonder if the joy
will someday
outweigh the pain
and if my heart
will find its kindred
while it still has love to lavish

I wonder if the poems I birth
will be consumed by thirsty ears–
will move a mind to create
will stir a wound to heal
will awaken a soul to dance
will ignite a passion to thrive

And I wonder if the dues I’ve paid
will yield a bountiful harvest,
will the tears I’ve shed
nurture a tender seedling,
or will the field lay fallow—
a toilsome effort all in vain

I look upon my countenance
and see a flickering resilience
I cling to it for dear life
and I hear You cry:
Oh-oh Child, ho-old on
I see your hope
I hold your heart
oh-oh Child, ho-old on
oh-oh Child, ho-old on.

*Words in italics are sung