Poem (Son)

Son

I called on god

often

but his attention

was elsewhere

as I cried myself

to sleep

and wondered

why so much

anger

was directed towards

my skinny

10 year old frame

I prayed often

because deacons in

church

who were far more

experienced

instructed me to do

so

but god was

always busy

with another emergency

so tears continued

to paint my face

like tribal markings

and my downward glances

became permanent

Puffy lips and bruises

became my trademark

as prayers fell

upon the night sky

unanswered

leaving breath spots

on a window

that shared my dreams

and anguish

Told often

I would amount

to nothing

I wondered how

someone could know

that

so early in another’s

journey

whereupon my prayers

turned into nightmares

often leaving me

drenched in sweat and

urine

Watching, waiting and

sitting through cigarette

smoke

and countless beers

I sought an approval

that was never coming

regardless

of how much I

prayed

asking god

to make me happy

and bring love into

my home

With a broken pencil

and scraps of soiled paper

I began writing

discovering a voice

new to me

scribbling around the

teardrops

my sentences

began making sense

and finally

waiting on god

and through the cigarette

smoke

and countless beers

wasn’t so important

because I was finding

my voice

even if it was

                                                                       a bit hoarse