The Keeper of Grief

Posted on: February 20, 2015
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The Keeper of Grief
 
(dedicated to Sosha Pease)
 
 
By Charles Clifford Brooks III
 
 
 
 

Case files are photo-copied
on wax paper
with ink drawn
from
formaldehyde.
My job is to log
a child’s long haul,
and scribble down
the basics,
after they’ve
been mauled.
It is an act
of incessant hindsight.
 

I am an intruder,
the poorest man’s confessor.
Childhood curls, hopeful girls:
You sleep in shit so thick
it’s slick on my shoes.
Daddy’s lullabies are
prison terms,
cigarette burns,
and unwanted daughters.
The un-orphaned
orphans
have faces
vacant
in the important
places.

 

Tonight,
my black robe is faded
on its hook,
white collar frayed.
I pray.
New dawn is new hate.
I point out the liar,
the arsonist,
the thief.
I am the hypocrite,
the idiot,
the Keeper of Grief.

 
 
 

 
 
 

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