BY: JOSEPH BROWN, SJ
When a boy is born around
these parts
seems like everybody
and her mama holds they breath
feeling the heart beating the throat
closing shut
the eyes straining not
to see the future
hoping against the storm
we smooth the skin
making our fingers learn a memory for when
we are going to wish for skin to love
for eyes to blow the grit from
for
shoulders to clutch and caress
for dreams to feed our prayers into
the boy was running from something
and running to somewhere
that is all
we have ever known
my fingers would have caught him
if I could
now all we got is a story that
makes no sense
and fingers that hurt to hold
just one more time
— Luke
JOSEPH BROWN, SJ, who publishes his poetry under the name Luke, is a professor in the Africana Studies department at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, Carbondale, Illinois. This poem appears in The Sun Whispers, Wait: New and Collected Poems (Makanda, Illinois: Brown Turtle Press, 2009).