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.