Another Role To Play

The filthy child, eyes deep and empty,

fidgets in the chair,

nodding at me in greeting, a silent request

catching my heart–

Next to him, mom tells us

about the demons and monsters, and

ending it all with a bottle or a knife,

her arm showing me how.

In that year, he runs free,

finding life on a farm, far away from mom,

showing me, one day, his

cowboy boots and his

big grin.

Thirty years more, I’m next to a young lost soul,

him talking with the prison guard,

about ready to blow,

struggling into manhood, wanting

out of the jungle of his life with crazy mother, absent

fatherhoods, him being tossed into the trash.

The guard nods, taking it all in, offering a few

kind words and wisdom,

now nodding at me in greeting,

again,

thirty years later.

Neal Lemery 5/27/2012

The Visit

Unwrapping

McDonald’s in the morning,

his first in a fourth of his life,

words tumbled out,

between the bites of old comfort.

His last five years in prison,

new place this week, more freedom,

nine months to go, until

college, a new life,

so many unknowns, new fears.

We walked inside the fence,

round and round,

more unwrapping, to the core

of where he wanted to go —

who he wanted to be.

The Scrabble game brought laughs

and time just to be

himself,

unwrapped,

closer to the peace

he craves.

–Neal Lemery

5/5/2012

The Gift

What must it be like, to get a gift, for the first time in four years?

Four years in prison, after a childhood of hell, of being beaten and abused, and drunk and high, and then doing what someone did to you, to others, and then told by the cops that what you’d been taught was wrong, and you were going to prison.

And, then, for four years, no one in your family comes to see you, or write to you. You are in classes to learn about what you did, and who you are, and how you might want to deal with all of that, and actually be healthy and strong, and become a real man.

Manhood, what a confusing thought.

And, deep inside, you are a kind and sensitive soul, and spend your time being an artist, and creating some beauty in your world. All that is new, to be good to yourself, and to be an artist, to create.

How strange is that, after so many people have told you that you are a beast, and a pervert, and need to be locked up, and punished, for all the bad things you have done.

Yet, someone new in your life gives you a gift of a book, a book that honors art and creativity. And the giver of the book writes you a letter inviting you to explore your creativity, your gifts of beauty, and reminds you that you are a good person, an artist, and a creator of wonderful and beautiful things in this world.

No wonder you are confused. No wonder you find it hard to make sense of this world, and who you are, and what is expected of you.