My Two Cents: Moving Aside...
Today, I yield my "time" to Gussie Roc, a writer and a poet (who happens to also my daughter) because I found the poem she wrote below, moving and humane. I hope that you do too...
Untitled
by Gussie Roc
Every time he takes a step
And his old rubber soles
Collide with the ground
He feels a sense of purpose
A direction that goes nowhere
And means nothing
But purposeful nonetheless
Watch his darting eyes
As he becomes entranced with
The old mans fingers
That trace the shape of the piano keys
The hopeful glisten in his eyes
His baby face
Letting his feet lift above the ground
And the old piano man struggles
To imagine what the world
Would be like
Without human suffering
White walls with empty frames
Trash bags with the arms cut out
And a hole for the head
Newspaper hat
And the rain that heals
Sunburnt souls
And as the boy walks
He passes
Little bodegas
A carton of sun kissed oranges
Abandoned on the curb
Turns the corner and
The playful notes of
Finger-snapping jazz
Dance out onto the street
And there's the kindergarten smell
Of apple juice and crayons
Men enveloped in gray beards
Hold up signs
With religious blessings
Voiced by a Sharpie
They've got worn out cups made of paper
They've got worn out faces
Hardened by time
And still somewhere that boy walks doe-eyed
Face of innocence
Soul still in no need of repair
And the steady, pumping heartbeat
Of an untainted destiny
That's my two cents (for whatever it's worth).
Auguste Roc
auguste@danaroc.com
