Apr 05 2009
Origins - Health Mysteries Poetry for a Sunday Morning
This is not my usual poetry but I hope you enjoy it.
His Origins Were Questionable
by Therese Haberman
His origins were questionable
He knew of a black grandfather
Whom he never knew
Or cared about until now.
His grimy sweatpants
Had once been emerald green
The color of his mother’s eyes
Crouching in the tiny cell
Scratching noises of small animals
At least gave some noise.
The origins of his tears
Dated back to childhood
They streaked down now
Through the dirt of two decades
Decades of decadence.
Decades of highs and very lows
His dreads were once
Proud flags of his manhood
Now they hung in fear ~
Fear of what he had become.
Mumbling an old Jamaican lullaby
He slept as his youth drained
Out onto the cement floor.
And somewhere,
His grandfather cried for him.
pix courtesy of MPR529 at Flickr.com
