No new poetry submission by students for today’s posting.
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“For Kieya and the Others”
By Robert Billimack
Usually Kieya kept her eyes downcast. On the rare occasions when the 15-yr. old made eye contact, her eyes were large dull pools, as if a caul had been drawn over them, extinguishing their spark. No one had ever seen her smile.
Whose bitter words lashed your tender ego
Again and again, opening rough wounds
Too jagged for healing?
Who painted you colorless and then invisible,
Looking through you where you stood
Hearing silence when you spoke?
Who told you he was the one that mattered
His face more perfect, his eyes more blue,
His body champion of the family name?
Who left you in hospital, alone and afraid,
While the dinner parties raged at home
Behind the Georgian façade and 4-car garage?
Whose board meeting missed your Christmas play,
You, a white dove behind the Christ child
The only child for whom no one applauded?
Who framed you as dull and graceless
Unworthy of shopping adventures for flattering clothes
In spite of the family’s fortune?
Who never fussed with your hair,
Or helped your lips discover their perfect shade,
Or told the mysteries of a girl’s changing body?
Whose body lay smothering you
Ripping and hurting and isolating you
With leers and threats and deep-throated snarls of orgasm?
Who drove you to the streets
Where rats and grime and cast-off people
Embraced you, jagged wounds and all?
“For many years my wife and I lived and worked in Chicago, she as a specialist in autism and I as a real estate broker. During that time we volunteered for a wonderful organization called The Night Ministry, whose mission is to serve homeless youth on the streets of Chicago. Two Night Ministry vans make rounds each night, distributing personal hygiene items, food, blankets, etc. to hundreds of homeless young people. The "bus" also has medical personnel who examine and treat young people in need of medical intervention. It is amazing to experience the bus pulling up to the curb on an apparently deserted stretch of roadway, and within minutes dozens of young people appear from the shadows and alleyways for help. This poem is inspired by the many young people, wounded in spirit and body, rejected or addicted, sometimes gender conflicted, who visited our bus for support and a little kindness.”
