a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

Into a Crouch

I knew a boy
Who was forced to contend with a man
And it twisted him
Mangled his spirit
We played ball together
He had repressed talent
Which would not blossom
Us happy boys walked upright and laughed
He crouched like a man in a firefight
His battlefield his life
No weapons, no defense
Just bruises and confusion
Instead of hope, hopelessness
Instead of care, carelessness
I think of him
How he carries himself as an adult
Does he use his crouch to reach down
And embrace little ones
Does he share what he never had
Because it was given to him by a man
Who himself was ravaged by violence
And carried such a weight on his back
That he crouched
Until he rose in splendor

Old Books

An Offering