His suitcase a rainbow interior as he inspected his clothes with a fastidiousness reserved for the Mona Lisa.
Mom tried to hide his flaws with stories of bravado
I saw a vain, flirtatious and angry man
Her stories never compensated for the truth
I have watched commercials of starving children and wished for a more beautiful face
I have watched men beheaded and wanted new shoes
I can’t rectify the images I see with the mundane of my life
I hear of abused children and go on a new diet
My heart breaks with every image until I am splitting apart
The cracks fractured like a mosaic
I split into pieces with every horror-filled story
My empathy runs like a cut artery showering the room red
It leaves me washed on the shore exhausted from the swim
I watch a school shooting and try to find the confidence to dwell in this skin
How do I navigate this world of horror and beauty
How do I find joy without being swallowed by the cracks
In the quiet aftermath of my storm
Memories stir
As I walk among the debris
Fear overcomes me
this disorganization
pain
needs a file to be gently sorted
I am from bleach on a dirt floor
I am from switches that never had a leaf
I am from chicken and dumplings, crawfish and Crawford
I am making groceries
I am Catholic with a dash of agnostic
I am from New Orleans and poboys and one meal a day if we were lucky
I am my grandmother’s coat
thin and sparse
I am from scarcity
Be brave is what I tell my daughter but I often forget to tell myself.
Constantly cultivate your dreams I tell my daughter but I forget to tell myself.
Strive every day to be your best self I tell my daughter but do I do this?
I know children do as you do and not as you say
So I start telling myself to be the person you want your daughter to be
Twilight Dawn is a label that requires confidence
My grandmother knew better than to give that name to a child whose voice already fluttered like a nervous curtain
A glowing red alias that would embarrass this quiet child to ash
Cooler, sober heads prevailed
Grandma branded me after herself
Maybe it was delusions of grandeur or simply the desperate desire to stay alive
I thank her for keeping the indignity of such a label that bore no resemblance to its potential wearer
I thank her for an elegant name
She is still alive everytime I write, say or hear
Sarah Joan
