This poem is important-For Men
Especially on this website when men are often under fire. I feel that we need to have poems like this written and read more often.
Sometimes men are more than mountains.
Men like my grandfather
Prolific in knowing the difference
Between being epic
And being tragic.
Men who gather their street lamp
Experiences and turn them into lightning bolts.
Fine tune suffering into fable and fantasy.
They coddle their nightmares until they
Are petals in the wind for blowing…
Sometimes men are more than oak trees.
They dig their heels into this life
Turn their backs into bridges
Find God in the darkest places and
Live in the light of their faith for the rest of their days.
They cook catfish, shoot rifles, rock babies
Pickle and brine unthinkable things
Line their shelves with mason jars and
They are the men we forget to remember
When we are dizzied and spent from
The new age minstrel show that casts our
Best and our brightest as crip-walking
Puppets bedecked in gold chains and misogyny.
Theatrical and ridiculous.
We forget to remember the magic our grandfather’s
Hands held when they
Pulled splinters from our palms and
Spooned homemade ice cream into
Pouting mouths and made everything better
With a story.
Sometimes men are wider than oceans.
They swell and rise higher than their specific geography
Men-who stuck and stayed through unlivable
Circumstances that pulled and stretched
Their humanity into a thousand dreams deferred
Because they saw beyond the strong winds
Of their own hardships
To imagine us with scholarships and families
And mortgages and passion-
These men are the ones who held
Secret meetings on back porches
And chewed through their words
Sliding them over and around their teeth
Until the words and the women believed them.
They are the first poets.
They write sonnets on handkerchiefs and
Keep them in pine boxes.
They whisper their wishes into their
Woman’s ear at night.
Tell her the things they cannot bear
For the light to hear…
They are Jesus all over again.
Cornrowed and tattooed-
Divine and condemned
They are the ones we need to remember
When we forget
They are misspent and holy
Indignant and temperamental
Slow to start a fight but quick to finish it.
They are the bloody bones of our story.
The ashy-knuckles and teeth of our yesterdays.
Sometimes men are just men.
Live hard, love hard, fight hard, and die hard.
Their sins are punishable by death.
They apologize infrequently.
They cry when no one is watching.
They are the tremble and roar of our consciousness.
Fire starters shit talkers and way makers.
They are the problem and the solution.
The apocryphal parts of the kingdom.
They are at the top and the bottom of the hierarchy.
They live their lives trying to make
Sense of that contradiction.
They are men before they know it.
Before they even have language for it…
They have defended their mamas and fought for their sisters
Died for their brothers.
These are the ones to remember
When we forget.
Even as they hurt us.
Even as they twirl around the strange and macabre
Dance of masculinity and get the steps wrong.
They are the means to keep our heads up.
The ones we have been waiting for.
The ones we have always had.
The ones we will always have.
The ones who never leave.
The ones who have to leave.
Sometimes. Sisters, men are the best things
We’ve ever done.
When our sons alchemize from our bodies
They fight our biology in the womb
Rewrite the feminine template into sword fights and solitude.
They burst through human skin
With a mission statement.
It is written in blood and tears.
It is more permanent than any stone tablet could be.
Before Moses was a prophet
Moses was a man.
And we should remember.
Yes. We should remember.
When we forget.