Crossroads
Something happened to me yesterday
and I wish I had the words to describe
the thing inside me that has changed.
But what kinds of words can capture
raw, human emotion?
The toll of struggle?
The stench of grayish-white slurry
in puddles alongside the curb.
What words exist to describe
aluminium shacks,
reruns of the Cosby show,
plastic table cloth lined floors,
and folks who are promised the way forward
but never see it?
There are no words to capture
the softness of a hug
from an 84 year old Gogo,
struck with cataracts,
relegated to a beyond delapidated town,
in a shack for fourty plus years,
unable to even move up one rung.
There are no words to describe
the strength in a shaking handshake
from a strong African man,
sitting,
grimicing from the pain
of an amputated leg from a road accident
and from the pain of a
forced revisitation,
one brother murdered by the boer
while the other remains.
Something happened to me yesterday
where I was struck dumb
for the first time in my life,
unable to process what I saw
in front of me.
I decided yesterday not to weep
(though I wanted to)
or send aid
(though I should)
but to be more careful with my words,
to uncover the depths of
my ability for compassion and humility,
and to say less.
Much, much less.