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| Hilary Thomas |
Faces of the Bereft
They
shot her in her home as she opened the door
then
went and shot her nephew who slept in his bed.
I was transfixed to this story in the news today,
No
words could convey the depth of the pain I saw
in those faces, photos of an aftermath.
The aftermath of a shooting
Where mothers and sisters and daughters are left,
Bereft
Women, dressed in amber hues and royal blue African print
Protrude against a backdrop of black and white, ink.
Between the pages of stale adverts, the headlines
And bylines of stories that pop, and then
Die as the day progresses, but this,
This one will surely stain
The faces of mothers and daughters and sisters left,
Bereft
A crime scene of a story to freshly unfold.
Outside on the grass, where shoeless women
Who’s bodies contort with unimaginable pain, remain.
The lives of their loved ones taken by hate
The faces of mothers and sisters and daughters left,
Bereft
So many photographs, taken by a journalist
Determined, I guess, to do their bit.
The windows of an Estate; the building, now barred,
A solid line of police, their vans and yellow tape.
Their cold faces and straight backs, give nothing away.
The crime scene of a double murder, a serious case.
And the women are begging, perhaps, to see, to touch;
Just one last embrace.
The faces of mothers and daughters and sisters left,
Bereft
There’s a face that stands out, repeats in my mind.
I imagine her elegance and grace. Yet, it’s deep lines
I trace as I look at her face; shrivelled by loss,
I see her strong shoulders sink low, towards her buckled knees.
I trace her puffed up eyes and mascara stained tears, then
I surmise; hands in tight fists and arms around her belly pain
Her belly pain, a mother’s worst nightmare
A double blow for the sister of the auntie
She is drenched in death
Drowning in her innocence
The faces of mothers and daughters and sisters left,
Bereft
A crippling affliction has engulfed her today
Like a hell fire that burns and burns
It burns, and burns, no mercy no mercy
It burns into the chill, of the night.
Suffer the living, the ones that are left
For they are the ones that are left
bereft
© Hilary Thomas 2021
Hilary Thomas is a teacher and writer. She is a student at The City Literary Institute in London and has contributed her flash fiction to Late Lines, their monthly spoken word night. She has also written poetry for UK musician, Alfa Mist’s highly successful 2021 jazz/hip hop album, BringBacks. She is currently working on two debuts: a poetry anthology and her debut YA fiction novel.
Go here for readings from the Blogging Carnival for Nonviolence.
Go here for more from the Blogging Carnival for Nonviolence 2021.
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