Sorrow is the gift
God gives to teach us
what won’t last,
what will fall and be left
on the side of the road
by the mother lost
among refugees.
Sorrow teaches her
the value of screaming.
It will last longer
than bronze shoes,
longer than her baby’s
photograph.
Nothing else she loved
is left. The home in Poland
God bestowed? The husband
whose love was worth so much?
The baby?
The gift of everything is lost,
the way a penny is lost
in the dirt around her.
All that’s left
is the road she stands on—
that and the sorrow
He bestowed, the scream
that ends in screaming.
Photo by bourgeoisbee
Whenever I read a poem by John Guzlowski, one such as this, I am amazed at what depth of feeling he can stir with an economy of words. His poetry is alive with imagery and tension, even when his language is sparse and uncompromising.