May we remember…
Amicus Brief
What they call you is one thing.
What you answer to is something else.
Lucille Clifton, 1936 – 2010
The light of day was gone.
It was to honor a birthday
that we were at the Lighthouse,
a local tavern and gathering place.
An unknown to me, you were sitting
by yourself at the bar, a stranger.
When I came up to the bar,
what you saw and apparently imagined,
was not what was actually there.
For your own reasons you were
wanting to hurt, get down, forget.
Not for you and you alone did I
refuse to kiss your angry, drunken
axe, dismiss or ignore all the times
you were wronged, not heard,
demeaned, all the times you were
frightened, contracted, confused.
Full of party intentions, I was wearing
my favorite old coat, unraveling a bit,
threadbare, and apparently from somewhere
in Bolivia. When you asked if I was homeless
it was clear you believed I had no right
or reason to be at the bar, the gathering,
or occupy space at all. It was all so sad
and familiar. A response was needed but
not available. When I answered the fist
of your question, “Are you homeless,”
I could not sanction nor join another
confused distraction, nor support
the ignorance that brought this violence
to you that you were now bringing to me.
My answer, “Not at this time.” could never
quiet what was burning in you and the uncertain
tightening of this difficult meeting continued
in ways I have now completely forgotten.
Finally a person I never saw, claiming to know
each of us, said something that allowed you
to let go, begin to settle down. I was grateful
that at least on this night, self-loathing
quieted, no blood would be lost.