BOARDED-UP-HOUSES
She wore boarded-up houses on her face.
She wore midnight fights and screaming on her ears.
She wore the sad looks given to her all the times the cops took her into custody.
She wore her grandmother’s fears on her sleeve. Like decorations, face melting into agony.
I could see right through her from her frailty.
And I was scared. Scared to see myself in her eyes.
She wore years of beatings.
And beatings that had stung for years.
A fracture of the skull.
A broken arm from a drunken father- that one night had gone too far.
She wore her mothers sneaky footsteps- going out to get more drugs. More drink. More problems.
She wore her father’s anger on her neck. Like a prized possession, made of gold- it was heavy.
She wore lack of money and crying baby sister. And a brother lost to gangs.
She wore so much. I could no longer look at her.
She was no longer frail but loaded. With unsavory images to my soul.
I could not contemplate a life so hateful.
I couldn’t speak that language.
I peeled her slowly.
Getting to the core of it.
Cleaning it all up.
I spoke to her softly.
"I’m a friend"- I said.
She listened to me carefully- not wanting to get too close.
I understood it.
No matter, I would continue.
Continue to communicate.
Get her to let me in.
She spoke slowly, but she spoke truth.
And finally after being there.
And listening.
The shadows started to fall away.
One by one.
No more broken arm.
No more hatred.
Oh, she still knew about it.
She still had the knowledge.
But she no longer wore it.
No longer carried it around.
And that was worth all my discomfort.
That was the first time I saw true beauty.
By: X
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.2005
