My child is murdered;
His slender body beaten and tortured
By cops With savage and brutal fists.
I struggle to hold on to reality;
But pain and rage overcome my grasp,
Shoving me into the shell of catatonia.
I paint for my muted mind and soul;
For emotions holding me hostage;
For the lifeless prisoner within myself.
No words to describe and no one to
hear
The fragments of a weeping soul -
Freefalling in a black bottomless void.
Only the brush knows and only the
paint hears;
They scream out the pain and nurture
the wounds.
They reveal myself to me.
SUPPRESSION
Breathe...Breathe...Breathe!
To unleash this monster
That has gnarled my body
From inside out.
I hold my breath
And I do not feel...
I strangle my Life force
And the pain subsides.
And my world loses its color,
And I can't hear the music...
Only drabness -
Faraway people who can't come in.
So I learn to breathe -
And I learn to feel.
And I don't disappear;
I stay with myself
And feel how much I hurt..
Feeling the pain -
What I can't feel
I can't heal.
Wave after wave hits..
Knocking me to my knees.
And I ride as long as I can,
Growing stronger with each tide.
Gentle hot tears and racking sobs
Cleanse and scrub my soul;
Slowly setting me free -
Letting me be...
Alive.
Reflections from a deep place within myself -
Recalling the times of terror...lost and alone-
With the protectors inflicting the wounds.
So much pain fills this body...
Locked in each of these cells,
Layer upon layer;
Endless effort to hide and hold in...
Steven's death being the catalyst -
Surfacing memories are burning.
Still hiding how she feels -
The layers brimming over and bulging out...
No more room - no more time;
No more strength.
It is time;
Time to visit Steven in the funeral home.
In a room so quiet -
All I see is my precious child's body
Lying still in the icy blue casket.
Do I see him with my eyes:
Or do I see him with my heart?
Unbearable pain...agony...ripping apart.
Someone is moaning - louder and louder;
Faraway endless moaning.
I look down into the room
And see myself across from the casket,
Sitting on the purple velvet bench,
Doubled over and rocking,
And groaning and rocking.
Grace relieves the agony
Of this purest form of pain...
Escaping in denial -
Knowing blessed numbness...
Like a floating shadow,
I'm gone again.
March 21, 1982 -
Houston Chronicle headlines:
Deputy Constable Accused of Murder
In Civil Rights Case
--------------------------------------------------
Blurred words...Refusing to register
By swimming off the page -
Described how Peace Officers
Beat Steven to death.
He was just 17 years of age.
No one called me - no one let me know.
Where was he? Where did he go?
Radio and TV news coverage
Gouged me with gruesome details.
News media - friend or foe?
My world grew faraway and unreal.
This was someone else's son, not mine.
Steve's face filled the TV screen;
It was his sophomore picture alright;
But why were they lying?
What secrets do you hold ol' tree
Of this parenthesis in time?
Why was Steven's life so short?
Why his life instead of mine?
Should I scratch and claw your
mangled roots
Searching for the reasons?
Or whisper to a leaf in flight,
For even grief has its seasons.
