Let us remember.
May we remember…
             Amicus BriefÂ
      What they call you is one thing.Â
                   Â
     What you answer to is something else.
                      Â
         Lucille Clifton, 1936 – 2010
The light of day was gone.Â
It was to honor a birthday
that we were at the Lighthouse,
a local tavern and gathering place.
An unknown to me, you were sittingÂ
by yourself at the bar, a stranger.Â
When I came up to the bar,
what you saw and apparently imagined,Â
was not what was actually there.
For your own reasons you were
wanting to hurt, get down, forget.
Not for you and you alone did I
refuse to kiss your angry, drunkenÂ
axe, dismiss or ignore all the timesÂ
you were wronged, not heard,Â
demeaned, all the times you wereÂ
frightened, contracted, confused.
Full of party intentions, I was wearingÂ
my favorite old coat, unraveling a bit,Â
threadbare, and apparently from somewhere
in Bolivia. When you asked if I was homeless
it was clear you believed I had no right
or reason to be at the bar, the gathering,
or occupy space at all. It was all so sad
and familiar. A response was needed but
not available. When I answered the fistÂ
of your question, “Are you homeless,”Â
I could not sanction nor join anotherÂ
confused distraction, nor supportÂ
the ignorance that brought this violenceÂ
to you that you were now bringing to me.Â
My answer, “Not at this time.” could never
quiet what was burning in you and the uncertainÂ
tightening of this difficult meeting continued
in ways I have now completely forgotten.Â
Finally a person I never saw, claiming to know
each of us, said something that allowed you
to let go, begin to settle down. I was gratefulÂ
that at least on this night, self-loathingÂ
quieted, no blood would be lost.