One Of Us Poem by Tom Courtney

Was she one of us once? We wonder
as someone pulls off the newspapers

They shake their heads and nod and fill out forms
has this become some kind of stark ritual- cold emotionless?
or simply common?

She has no identification but marks and rings- cheap and tarnished
all her fingers yes, her veins collapsed from intra-venous
dear God! Such prison bars and now such freedom!

Her hair thick and clotted- oh! with who knows what?
I have not seen this type of thing so much I think
Once a man lay face down in the street
curled like a fetus –I won’t go on –
I saw two men beating on one.
We stood high up
the seventh floor the office building where I worked
having coffee at the windows watching

What can be done? this woman dead - I wonder
not how she could come to die
but that she lived so long.

Image! ! No, not now! Not while I stand in uniform!
Go! Get away! I bat at you and blink my mind
re-focus upon the faces and my routine
go! I’m not afraid of you! just ashamed

The tightening of my throat the welling behind my eyes
the trembling coming up my spine now showing clearly in my fingers
look away! Oh God! Don't cry of all things! Some fool!
You're supposed to be a professional,
your purpose is to gather the facts
You've come to gather information: what story?
what story?

I am sorry I speak to no one
The trap was well laid for me
The image draws me in,
I hear it crying, soft and ancient
wistfully speaking to me:
“I am not a presence … I am only you
the song you sing is the song of ages
born anew each moment
Come, come now, come in, come see
come; for we scarcely have this moment”

And though no one sees I am folding
like the empty aged newspaper from yesterday
bending along the well-worn creases and blown at the edges
trying to hang onto my familiar shape
I am going despite my resistance
despite my heart-felt reluctance
My soul screams at me that
I am also the victim

And far, far away in time, in ages past
in other worlds than this - a tender girl
hair shining and brightly tied in pigtails
bouncing balls about a play yard
One big and shiny red comes softly to meet her palms
and then rebounds and comes again

And now still petite, a taller, slimmer one
sitting on wooden bench
learns to write in alphabet and speak in grammar
Come night she scrubs her face and assumes her proper habits
and in moonlight sits with dolls - old familiar play things
and dreams of what? Becoming a woman? And more?

Yes! ! But a day comes. things fall
And the tender green shoot is bent
as another tree is plowed under at the foundation
Come a vile night, atrocities fall
Deathly rings dance and sting
Depression comes in floods
Blackening waters swirl, a turgid spin
We lose perspective

And suddenly violently like steel striking against steel
again and again that same darkness the lightness of day
surge and flow now in maddening disarray

See! just see how this hallowed body is plundered
for this lifetime!

And what are we to expect from one another?
I cast my eyes upon myself - so much indifference?
The pride in things we’re given and what we take
What we call our accomplishments
The pleasures of our good fortune and the time of day?
a quickness in our gait
a professional demeanor?

I walk away from the scene, now stung bitterly into silence
I am a story-teller
a giver of facts and many fables
I move not earth or sky, nor barely shape the wind
I have a chance to hold onto myself
perhaps I will

And was she one of us once?
Indeed! A beggar at the wealthy gate
I’ve passed her way many times before