The Poem My Mother Liked
“THE POEM MY MOTHER LIKED”
smoking a cigarette in the bathroom
at 4 p.m. I wonder what my son is doing;
I wonder if court will run smooth. I sit in
the midst of my greatest trial, trying to
keep from losing it. my son knows I’m gone,
I know if he could talk, the fight against the
darkness would be clean. you sit and
notice the things you never saw:
the toilet paper hanging, the deodorant,
the razor, the aftershave, the comb,
the toothbrush and paste, the ray of
sunlight tunnel visioned on the center
of a wall rarely paid attention to. everything
you used daily because it’s always the same.
then you look into the mirror, you don’t
know who you see. you’d give anything to
go back and confront the moments of
darkness but you know they weren’t dealt
with out of good intention. the road to Hell
is paved with good intention and yet, we
continue to be as naturally good as we can be.
Bukowski said: “You can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life sometimes. The
more you learn to do it, the more light there
will be.” I guess that’s why I’ve prayed more
than any other time in my life. waiting and
hoping God will respond in my hours of death.
if God could talk, what would be said to me?
time will only tell. as I sit on the floor,
my son waits for Friday.
I wait for God to respond when I’ve only
known him to be unresponsive. will it be
through my voice, a judges voice or my
son’s voice? will it be through paperwork,
through nights in jail or through her when
it catches up to her? I don’t know. I wait…
what choice do I have? I sit in the bathroom
with this cigarette, smoking, praying,
all while dying. three days away from 3 p.m.
will remind me why God hasn’t taken me in
all these years. with God in that reality, I
wonder if me being here after all these years
is His response.
who’s to say? I know I’m still here though
because I’ve asked God not for happiness,
just a little less pain.
By: Chicano Eddie
7-28-2016
Copyright © Chicano Eddie | Year Posted 2016
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