The Night Before

You pay attention long enough
keep your ears open  
and mouth shut
there will be truths  
that haunt you
as ghosts  
 
You’ll be in a grocery store
or a social gathering
and such a truth emerges
wrapping around your ear canal
until the tunnel of listening
begins to close
 
No one you know
will be able to reach
the deepest chamber of your heart
sitting amid all that silence
 
She leans over and says
"Such a shame, isn’t it?
But you know
it’s not the gun’s fault  
it’s the parents,
their irresponsibility
is the biggest danger  
to us all.”
 
I see miracles fade—
him becoming a Lazarus
climbing out of his coffin  
to appear on the doorstep  
and explain away  
rumors and speculations
the relief of his parents
to know Jesus still saves
 
There are times  
in situations like this
I’d like to believe
an SOS was sent
as light through the crack  
underneath his bedroom door  
early morning  
 
But his parents were asleep
and missed the signal
There were no friends
to talk him off the ledge
and prove  
that nothing  
matters more  
than Life and choice
 
If he could’ve held onto hope. . .
but maybe he did
for twenty years
and it never once showed  
 
So, he grips the barrel
the blood in his knuckles
draining of their life
 
Perhaps he thought
the only thing stable enough  
to carry him to 21
is retribution or rage
 
We’ll never know  
 
The only focus
strong enough  
to keep his brokenness  
from falling out of his chest,
was a scope  
a trigger  
and a suicide scenario
because he knew
he’d be shot dead
 
Hopes are the hands
clinging to the face of a clock  
trying to push time backwards
or at least slow it down some  
 
When rumors of his life
and speculations  
gather like specters  
rattling chains of assumption  
I’ll turn my head  
not as a "bleeding-heart liberal"
or a "leftist pig"
but as a mother
whose grandson  
will one day too soon be that age  
 
I can only pray
that I see any SOS  
shining from the crack  
of his bedroom door
late at night
 
So I can grip the doorknob  
until the blood in my knuckles
drain of their life
 
Squeeze the trigger of truth  
from my solar plexus
to my lips, help him
believe in a future  
beyond the curse  
of hopelessness  
 
Look him dead in the eyes
with all the love I possess
and say,  
 
‘You are going to make it  
To hell with the ghosts'
 
Then open the canals of my ears
and just listen