Affection
Lisa Zaran
I'm sorry, the beggar said.
Me too, I thought, as I passed the man
sitting on a curb holding a sign which read:
Homeless Vet, please help.
Downtown,
bedridden cripples, both in mind and spirit.
Not many mothers would step over to find
some peace behind a brick wall,
or a child who quit joining the conversation
years ago. Still she goes forth, knowing
but not acknowledging the emptiness.
If anything, to strengthen her time on earth.
Without hesitation she carries his heart
like a stone in her hands, crowds away
from acknowledgment. Dies a little deeper
each day.
Even pigs manage to contain their feelings.
Why not a mother?
The jail house towers like an angry father.
Gray and made of brick.
No visitation. This inmate is not allowed.
If she were only deep in thought,
God might understand.
But she's not. Only she would find an occasion
to wear bright colors, though she keeps her eyes
to the ground. Pink might make him happy.
Yellow surely will.
No visitation. This inmate is not eligible.
