Never Allowed to Be Young
A pail of water to fetch for Mama
Before she collapses for good
Then a basket of bread
To sell before the sun sets.
A ragged Raggedy Ann doll
Gathers dust in the corner of the hut
While a TV across the ocean
Portrays two preteens bickering loudly.
The stench of death, the scent of burial dirt
Is a daily routine for her nostrils,
Prayers for peace falling on deaf ears
If the ears are even there, to begin with.
She’s heard about a dream before
And what it’s supposed to mean
But she hasn’t had time to research it
Or justify its pursuit.
5 years going on 50,
10 years going on dead and gone,
Never allowed to be young
Though to her old and young are the same.
There’s a bird who visits her window
Every chance it gets
Just to say hello
And tempt her with wings.
Except she doesn’t know where she’d fly to
Beyond the breadmaker and the water well
And the ancient latrine
In which she hides her tears.
So she bids farewell to the bird,
Thanks it for its company
Then limps over to the lampstand,
Blows out the light.
30 minutes later, she’s back in action
With the newborn to keep her razor-focused
And snapshots of her still-cold pillow
Soiled by tears she forgot to shed in the latrine.
When no one else is looking, she dares to smile,
To acknowledge her persistent existence
Then sneaks a glance back at her pillow
And dreams of what it must be like to dream.
ABOUT THE POET
Sam Hendrian is a lifelong storyteller striving to foster empathy and compassion through art. Originally from the Chicago suburbs, he now resides in Los Angeles, where he primarily works as an independent filmmaker and has just completed his first feature film Terrificman, a deeply personal ode to the power of human kindness. You can find his poetry and film links on Instagram at @samhendrian143.
Contact Info: 630-251-5269, shendrian143@gmail.com
