To venture inside

————

Loneliness and grief pursued him,

Not unlike his needing a shave,

when he turned up

in Fresno, California, in 1947.

To live in a tiny stucco house

in a sad neighborhood

in a lethargic town

where many peers had settled.

His house was on a street

without sidewalks, street-lights,

curbs or gutters,

and had only a dirt driveway

to where he had planted two trees

an apricot and plum

behind the garage

where he parked his ‘98 Skylark.

A short hedge encircled

the house and fenced yard,

a double-gate opened in

to dormant bermuda grass.

Largely seen as an enigma

to his neighbors,

who rarely saw him

outside with a broom, or

at the mailbox, or in his yard.

He didn’t subscribe

to the daily newspaper

or come outside to collect it.

At night, the only light

was a buttery glow

from a kitchen window

with the blinds pulled down.

To venture inside

this man’s home

one would find it

sparsely appointed

with used and broken furniture.

One bedroom completely empty

And the hollow core-door locked

For whatever reason.

There were the objects

that he used every day

a chipped plate, a kettle,

a cup with no handle,

a silver-plated spoon

from the Hotel Fresno.

The only decoration

was a framed photograph

of an uncle in a red fez

on the living room partition

above an unused couch.

A perpetual calendar

hung on the kitchen wall.

He suffered

his memories alone,

and for that reason

He rarely ventured beyond

the confines of his home

or even his yard,

from guilt he felt

for being alive.

He grieved

for the slaughter

of the innocents,

having nearly escaped

when others did not.

Agonized with the disease

of false-guilt,

he deprived himself

of human relationships,

ingredients essential

for one man’s happiness;

a wife and family.

And that left him morose

with a sullen expression,

As his eyes sunk deeper,

further back into his head.

He had witnessed the violence,

tormented by what he saw,

he often dreamt

of the events relived

sitting by himself,

waiting to die.

By Stephen Barile

From: United States