Despondent Sirens – Poem By Bill Ivans
Last night the siren came;
It was sister’s body
Lying cold in fresh red blood.
The old brown ceiling hung low,
Begging a view of the lifeless person
That once saved it of cobwebs.
We can’t be this way – abandoned –
Like this old house that knows only
Mice, spiders and cockroaches.
The Pastor told me to pray.
I’ve done so multiple times.
He warned that persistence matters,
So prayer was a matter I embraced.
Yet, another siren!
This time, it was the cops;
Brother was dragged in tattered
Robes down the streets, dead.
This street, since brother fled home,
Had been home to him.
But home always has a way of betraying us.
The same way my body does to my soul.
The streets couldn’t absorb him in its corners
Or manholes –
It left him vulnerable when the thugs came.
A booklist, some music deal!
It erodes our sorrows, gradually.
Sun shines again.
There’s fresh air through the window – Sighs of relief,
Coffee moments with more books/ movies/ looking at the memories
Stitched across the large canvass on the wall.
It’s Sunday morning – 7am.
Another siren and a bell tolling.
Wails and shoutings emanate from persons clothed in black.
A fleet of black cars with tinted glasses to match.
There’s a shadow of gloom casted.
It’s Mother’s funeral.
She must be excited to be
Finally joining her sweetheart across the river.
They left me broken than I can bear – scattered into a million pieces beyond my reach.
These hands are feeble,
They’ve been folded in prayers for too long
Than I can remember,
But still, they can’t gather me into a whole again.