Art
Bill Bramhall
Poem
Gabbie Bolone
11
My Mother said to me,
‘Be good today Eric.’
My eyes had not yet seen.
The school was big.
My Mother said to me,
‘Treat her well Eric.’
I promised the Preacher I would.
The bride kissed me.
My Mother said to me,
‘They are beautiful, Eric.’
And my eyes finally saw,
In the eyes of my baby.
My Mother said to me,
‘It’s not about the money Eric.’
She promised it would get better,
Five kids later it still wasn’t.
Be good
Treat her well
They are Beautiful.
Treat them well
She is beautiful
Be good for them.
The money.
Lady Liberty saw,
The Empire State.
The swindle on tax.
What I saw instead,
Was a present under a tree,
A night out with my wife.
They weren’t people.
Shadows,
Hats,
Phones.
One by one,
Money made,
The smoke blew away.
I sold the Cancer,
I made the money,
I bought a tree.
We had a night,
So perfect,
The hats and phones and shadows,
Faded behind her light.
Her lips are soft,
I don’t deserve this.
The house smells good,
I cleaned up for her.
They smile at me as I leave,
Their eyes are bright.
They always had their mothers’ eyes.
Don’t take it from me,
Please,
I matter.
They matter,
She matters,
I have to have the money.
Don’t touch me!
I matter!
I’m here.
It’s rough down here,
My cheeks hurt.
I said no.
My Mother said to me,
‘Stand up for yourself,
With this skin, you have to.’
I said to my Mother,
‘I have to go,
It’s late. I have work to do.’
He pressed the air,
Like a tube of toothpaste,
From my lungs.
Once, she gave me,
Some funny tasting air,
So I could breathe.
I’m not allowed to play,
Or run,
Or bike to school.
I see her in the camera lens…
Mom…
My throat…
‘She’s waiting for you’,
My mother said,
The organ chimed.
Lets get going.
I smiled behind the sweat,
Take a breath,
My Albuterol.
It’s in my pocket,
Digging at my leg,
But He’s holding my arm.
My baby girl,
Can’t play or run,
Or bike to school.
‘It tastes funny.’
I know my love,
Now go play.
I Can’t Breathe.
Scratching
I Can’t Breathe.
Tight
I Can’t Breathe.
Pulling
I Can’t Breathe.
Burning
I Can’t Breathe.
Cold
I Can’t Breathe.
Heavy
I Can’t Breathe.
Pain
I Can’t Breathe.
Sinking
I Can’t Breathe.
Begging
I Can’t Breathe.
Black
I Can’t…….
Breathing.
Don’t cry my love,
I can breathe,
Go on home.
I cleaned up for you.
Tell them I Love them.
I can’t anymore.
The time came for me,
To play.
To run.
This isn’t goodbye,
We’ll meet again,
Please don’t cry Mom.
I did it.
I stood up for myself.
See the people?
My skin matters.
My Mother said to me,
‘I love you.’
She looked at my Father,
‘Eric.’
He nodded.
‘Eric.
My son,
You’ll do great things one day.’
My skin was lighter then,
I grew into it.
He closed my throat,
She closed the lid,
They closed the case.
I will not die for nothing,
He will not walk free.
Together:
We
Fight
Back.
“The time for condolence would have been when my husband was gasping for air, asking them to let him breathe, begging for his life.”
-Mrs. Garner