Poem

 

TRUE STORIES – A Poem About Me, About Here

 

Tonight, I was going to

Lie in my bunk and read, or write

but some people who wanted to play

informed me that the chapel was open

 

So, I remembered that there were Arabic flash cards

 there

So, I went

 

The night is nice, the coolness

envelops me, us

People walk about, they talk or eat

The heat is not fierce

Not now deep in October

Like only a month before

 

The sun made me sweat today

After retrieving my birthday package

—Must wait two more days —

Under my bunk it lies

Close to me

But me, I left to find the cards

In this chapel tent I worship in

Where I find myself in desert coolness

With friends and brothers, saints and sinners

We are one

 

I pass by buildings, an open stage

I see and hear the play of

basketball, volleyball, enthusiasm

Rhythmic music, Latino hip hop

or bachata reggaetón

—No sé—

It is vibrant and joyful

I walk by in the sand, in my sandals

(They are plastic crocks, from Canada)

another time, another clime

 

I make my way to the chapel

A Tuesday night

I see people in the house of the Lord

They are Black people, mostly

Also called African-Americans

They smile at me, offer me hellos

I know a couple of them

They are friends and friendly

 

People call people by labels

People are people, no matter the label

I am of value, no matter the rank

People see me, my rank

Some know me, others don’t

Ralph Ellison wrote “The Invisible Man”

Yes?

 

We can all be invisible

In uniform we disappear

dissimulate

I am lowly, but older

but sometimes seem younger

but I know things from the past

Things younger, higher ranked people do not

 

I am invisible, when wearing no rank

I am “sir”, and maybe 40

I once was forty, and feeling old

I am more now, but still me

Still at that former rank

—But it’s okay—

 

Ralph Ellison was invisible

Because of race, because of skin

Because the way that was, and can be

I am in a world of status, and I

feel it

Sometimes more than others

But it’s okay, this is how I pay

for our freedoms

 

I feel freedoms

hard earned, painstaking, humbling

We all fight battles, night and day

 

I retrieve the cards

They are there where my friend left them

I am grateful, relieved

Not lost, this mysterious language

In my head, on my tongue, most

of my life

 

It is there and not there

This desert language of the ancients

I am here and I see them

And sometimes they see me

Arabs

Their language

 

I have the cards

I use the same hamam – an army trailer

to use as my barracks has no facilities

running water

I use the water there, on the far

side of the sandy lot, by the chapel

A religious tent

 

I go there every Sabbath

Talks of God and Jesus

make me weep

I dab my eyes

Sometimes my throat constricts

Beauty and pain at once

 

The Gospel of Peace,

Overcoming the suffering

overcoming the hate

defeating the enemies

Enemies within and without

In the sanctuary the coolness

In middle desert hot day

 

The bread of life gives it

The water soothes my soul

The music calms and awakens

my heart and my love

 

I wish to see the basketball games

On the court with the soldiers

—Or one Marine I met last week

On my way in the fine

darkness

Lights peripheral

Noises echoing

I hear an organ, and a drum

I hear the music of the soul

The melody I felt

I moved in closer to the side

Outside the tent wall

Me alone, with my cards

 

I bend my head to the music

A tune that I feel

I like it, it’s soulful

Melancholy, and rich

It’s Black people singing

It’s a young lady uttering

the words of the Lord

 

lyrics of faith

messages of love and devotion

completeness and joy

Past sadness (passed sadness)

She’s happy

I close my eyes … and

I feel it

I bow my head, I close my eyes

I remember Missouri

Swaying to Gospel songs — Sabbath morn

and rejoicing! Yes!

 

I love that sweet music

Dancing with me

I hear the words

I feel the music

Slow, smooth, melodic

It enraptures my senses

I love this moment

dews from the heavens

well up in my mind

memories of everything

rush into my “ser”, my being

I am united with Heaven,

with mother, with God

I feel all my people

Coming back to me now

My people are people,

Smiling forever, singing

and dancing, swaying

just so

 

Tears drip out my eyelids

It feels good to feel loved

Crying is feeling

Real and alive

 

I love the moment, in heaven

On earth though I be

I love God and Jesus

On Earth though I be

Far from distant shores of gladness

Close to the waters of freedom

I am making my way

 

They stop the song

Still voices.

I hear a discussion

They have no idea I know

I observe and enjoy

A peak into the search

For everlasting Peace

 

I move on with my cards

Grateful, ever grateful

 

I watch at the courts

My brothers play ball.

I say hello and make

greetings

 

And, oh yes! In front of the

chapel. The tent of the Lord

A woman spoke kindness

to three men intent on her wisdom

The glory of Jesus

Alights on their faces.

 

I see and I wonder.

How God made us stewards

I wonder and marvel,

How God made me free

I joy and I wonder,

How God is my Master

I think and I ponder

What makes me me

 

I don’t know the riddles

to all of life’s questions

I simply know Jesus

is Heading the way.

He leads me, He guides me.

He is there right beside me

 

When I turn and ignore Him

He will not divide me

He will not divide me

He will not divide me

 

I bid farewell to my brothers

I’m grateful they see me

Invisible no longer, I am part of the vision of man

 

 

The poem ended above, that night. I returned to my bottom bunk with my Arabic flash cards, perhaps changed, perhaps enriched. Yes, to all of the above. Yes, yes, and yes.

True stories.