The Little Boy We Could Have Been
By Thomas Rosser
Perhaps my pain has a name
I am only sorry that I cannot sing it for you
Apologizing is an issue that is kindred to the soul
So in every ending way
There is only a simple hurt
Sometimes I just feel like I need a place to bleed in peace
Or somewhere that I can ruin myself carefully
Grammar with intimacy or imagination is piercing or turning
We are all turning forward with a piercing of new
A mother’s primal screams
For young children’s minds and hopes that are shattered
Are like funerals that have no families or my birth in isolation
Do you recognize the normal ways we revere
Or the ways we miss more
Then past it
An infant’s full-chested laughter
Now only to sit in a place like this
My wounds are windows
And with them the world may watch
Without movement…
I too watch
A million delicacies of enormity gather together while among friends
With a hole punched in the roof of my cell, I stare at a stitch of sky
Praying for a miracle
What have we understood
If nothing
Or everything
I am only asking a true inquiry of what happened to us
Did not the very cry happen through us?
Pay attention…
There’s no better loss than the one we feel
Trying to speak without a language is alone
By itself
Beyond itself
Before each time I shut my eyes
I learn without ease
To live without essence
Every day learning
Afraid
Continuing to be
The little boy we all could have been
Lonely
By Thomas Rosser
The days are so long that the air appears to stay still
breathing can be so hard at times,
some moment I lose the will
It is so empty in my cell and the concrete is so cold
freezing on steel
my life has turned to Hell
The constant of blood curdling screams
another one shaking the bars,
no one’s helping it seems.
People walk by your cell as a bright light hits your eyes
they’re mad at your smiles
they laugh at your cries
It’s torture in here, this cannot be right
we live in such hate,
unwilling to fight.
Do you ever think about being out there and you having it all?
while I sit alone, in here, with no one to call…
maybe then you would want to know me
What if you had everything with no one still listening
maybe then you would see,
How I’m, oh so lonely.
A razor is cutting open my skin
I’m crying as I bleed
I’m just looking for attention
But do you care?
As the hours and days go by, my mind is fading away
All I ask is that you write me.
God how your letters could save.
What if someone put you in a box, with no way of getting out or letting go
no one even cares if you hurt yourself.
no one would ever even show
You live no life, nothing to have
everything you own,
is inside a bag
People are left in here forever
worse than an animal,
alone…
dying.
Forgiveness is not given
nothing even worth trying
As the outside world moves on, you tend to forget my name
you can no longer picture my face
everything in here remains the same
What if you had it all
with no one to listen and no one to call…
maybe then you would want to know me
In here,
all alone,
all I can tell you is,
how I’m oh so lonely.
Free From the Shelf
By Thomas S. Rosser
I was in the “now closing” store, when I came to the aisle of “everything’s on sale”.
While looking around at items I might buy, I noticed to my left, all alone on a shelf, a baby tree in a little pot.
The little tree seemed sad as it leaned ever so forward; its two tiny branches and two slender leaves,
curled in as if holding or hugging someone who wasn’t there.
Slowly I approached the little tree and read the tag,
“Clearance: 99 cents”
Leaning forward I asked the little tree; “Do you want to come home with me?”
The top if its twig-like trunk looked up and at that moment, I would have sworn it smiled. When I reached out to pull its little potted self off the shelf, his two little bitty branches opened as if saying, “Please take me.”
I didn’t have 99 cents but I was not going to leave that little tree alone, on a shelf, wilting in wantingness.
I grabbed the little tree as I walked down the aisle, heading for the exit.
“Hey Mister, you have to pay for that!!”, I heard, but to my nevermind. I found myself running out the exit doors. I don’t know if I was saving that little tree or freeing my peace of mind. Either way…I ran.
As I was running, I looked at my new, little baby tree. With its only two branches and two leaves opened up, moving in the wind created as I ran. The little tree’s laughing smile resonated within me.
When I got home, I gave it a drink of water, looking at it ever so gracefully. Then, I too put it on a shelf.
It was the window he was close to so he could have some light, but as the days went by, he leaned towards the window as if crying to be a tree.
One day I came home from work, only to see that my little tree was gone. I searched all through the house, lost, lonely, missing my little tree. I went back to the shelf where I put him, only to start my search again.
In that very window that my little tree leaned toward, was my six-year-old son, Nicholas, outside, digging a hole with his hands.
As I went outside to approach him, I noticed the little baby tree was next to him.
“What are you doing outside with the little baby tree, son?” I asked.
“Daddy, the little tree was crying, so I’m freeing him from the shelf.”
I rolled up my sleeves and helped my son dig a hole for our little baby tree.
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