Tears For A Fallen Soldier

I shed tears for a fallen soldier
Who was killed in the line of duty
By being in the right place at the wrong time.
Ring…Ring…that’s my cell. It’s my Mom.
‘Hey, how you doing son?’
Cool. Just getting off work.
‘How was your day,’ she asked.
Fine.
‘Anything new going on.’
Not since I talked to you last night.
‘Are you home yet?’
I’m just getting out of the car.
‘I hate to do this over the phone.’
Do what?
‘Your godbrother is dead…is dead…is dead’
It echoes in my head still today.
My brother in god was murdered at the age of 21.
Killed in the line of duty; although he wasn’t in the armed forces.
A fallen soldier, who didn’t have beef with anybody.
A soldier who hadn’t enlisted but enrolled.
Killed on campus, a shot to the temple.
A shot heard by Temple right off Broad Street.
For being Black and trying to do better, someone took his life.
I never thought higher education would have me lower my brother into the ground.
I have trouble remembering his voice, as if the dirt on top of his coffin is blocking it out.
I’m sitting in the church not believing my eyes.
Can’t believe my blurry vision and sweat stained face.
Can’t breathe; the room is closing in.
That’s not him. He’s gonna wake up.
I can’t view the body; so my godmother tucks him in for the last time.
She screams, ‘Why him before me Lord?”
Why?
I hear his cousin sobbing, ‘They killed my family.’
Inside I scream, ‘They killed a piece of me.’
I strip off my jacket and tie and run from the church.
Run from my memories, run from the present, run from GOD.
How could you let one of your soldiers dies?!?
I wait and I wait; until I have to carry your body entombed in steel.
I steal away from this place and remember the trouble we used to get into.
I buried my brother the day before my 22nd birthday.
That night I never wished for anything so hard then for you to have life on Earth.
I bled red blood from black ink as I had your wings etched on my back.
In hopes that one day I can trade you for your halo.
I shed tears for a fallen soldier, who I carry on my back.
So when I read the words ‘NEVER 4GET’ in the mirror,
There’s no more tears left to cry.


R.I.P.
Justin A. Winstead
November 19th, 1982- July 13th, 2004

© July 2004

To Love A Man

One of my best friends turns 49 in a month. I turn 27 two weeks later. You might have heard me say it before but my parents are my best friends. And my Dad...well my Dad is the only Man whom I ever really loved. This might seem overly sentimental, but I am a Cancer by Zodiac. We wear our emotions on our sleeves. We are unpredictable, pleasing, sensitive, and have an uncanny knack for creating beauty within chaos. I like to think that I am my Dad's beauty. One of his greatest accomplishments. One of his closest friends. By the time you read this Dad I will have teared up at at least 5 or 6 television shows or movies that depict a Father and his Son; because I realize I took having you in my life for granted for years.

I feel the need to cry, not out of sadness or weaknesses, but in humility. I am humbled how I could be made in God's image, but shaped in your eyes. It is that reverence that fills me with Joy. Joy I found hard putting into words, so hard that my eyes cloud up with unfulfilled exaltation.

Growing up my father wasn't at every school concert, football game, awards ceremonies. But he was around. His presence and support expressed daily. But not with a "go get'em Tiger" and punch on the arm, my father strove to make conceivable the very essence of my accomplishment was further proof that I could do more. That "B" could be an "A". That I was of age to drive, but needed to learn to maintenance. He drove, moved, pushed, and made me question would there ever be anything I could do to make him completely happy. I didn't realize until years later that he was always happy. But what agitated him was that I was okay with being good, when he recognized that I could be great. I realized years later he had protected me, provided, molded me, then polished me to ensure that I shined from that point forward.

I was like him. To hear him tell it I was a better version. I had succeeded in becoming the man he wanted me to be. Still with shortcomings and sometimes reluctance for parental advice, I found a friend. In a Dad that I had fought for years. He was always my friend. But didn't have time to be a friend. He had responsibilities that included daily guiding two young Black boys lives.

He is a Cancer by Zodiac as well. He taught me stoicism. To guard my emotions to those that would harm me. He taught me Responsibility. That to shirk it would only delay its arrival. Taught me acceptance.

My father this past Christmas told me that he loved me. That no matter what I did in life he would still love me. That his acceptance wasn't needed anymore. That the fact that I still sought it in all things that I do was humbling. That he wished he was as talented as I was when he was my age. That he was proud of me. Had been for years. And that there wasn't much that I could do to tarnish that. That is why I tear up. I can say I love a man that loves me. Without condition. And I may not say it every time I hang up the phone but know that I will always look towards you. Seek your council. Be your College Basketball buddy. And talk shit during the football season. I will try to impress you and your friends. Even when you tell me not. And if I am half the Dad that you are to me. Well my kids will have been given one of the greatest gifts in the world.

I Love you Dad.
Happy Father's Day
(early)

PB & J

I've never liked living off Peanut Butter snacks.
But it's funny how Jelly always seems to fill me up.
I hear how he speaks about you.
And I remember I used to say those things.
But I sounded more sincere.
Meant it more when you were here.
Wanted to fly you to the Moon
Or at least to the 2nd star on the right.
But lofty ambition and secret omissions
Sealed our Peter Pan Jar.
I'm a Smucker.
Jammed up over a condiment I felt was stickier more than sweet.
It may not mean much to you but what was a Jiffy in your eyes
Still sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I really never liked Peanut Butter situations.
But know he wouldn't crush a Grape in a fruit fight.
And I want to tear his crust off
Thinking about his spoon stirring you.
As the Jelly spreads over the surface that I used to eat from.
We've reached a Concord and I respect your relationship.
I don't even venture down that aisle called memory lane.
You've made it clear that in the matter of Love & War...
Well War can be so cold.

As my heart has frozen over
Only noticeable by the Crunchy sound of Chunky heels
Echoing off grocery store shelves
A Monkey wrench I want to throw or maybe a tantrum.
All to be as full as you made me.
So no the grass isn't greener on the other side
There is just Envy.
And in my fallout shelter no more Peanut Butter
Everything's...Empty.
So I sit and watch as all this Jelly tries to tempt me.

Irregular

He made me different.
Decided that normalcy would only make me complacent.
Unaware of how life makes miracles and murders.
He made me a water sign.
So that my journey would be heralded with crests and valleys
Give way by high and low tides.
Handicapped by the fluidity of emotions and stoicism of events.
He made me confused so that understanding would be a choice
So that the unappreciated nuances of the world would be examined closer.
Darkness brought to light.
He made me an insomniac to realize that in the hours of silence
A pen scratching the surface of sheets still sounds.
He made me a packaged collarless t-shirt
To be missed by handlers
Bundled up and sold to the world.
To climb off the store shelf into a basket; brought home
Only to find that their newest purchase needs to returned.
Retagged.
And labeled Irregular.

S.S.S.

Stood up I somberly sit
Seeking solace in shelled, shadowed souls called homo-sapiens.
Surely sober selections should birth smarter results.
I sulk.
Seeing that such solutions aren’t so easily solved.
This story sauced in alliteration sings of solitude.
Loneliness.
In search of sharing some time.
Seconds unseen by sun dials
Darkness unscathed by solar storms.
Except scenes of others smitten with Spring love.
Newness.
Stepping softly in silence slyly feigning innocence.
So cautious not to sully ones reputations.
Until suddenly Summer sets a sizzle smoldering screaming Sex.
Shawls and sweaters shed to solicit scantily sewn straps.
Stripping so you see the shape, size, each rise and fall as you sigh.
To smell the scent that sticky situations like this seep into sheets.
The sensation of stirring until your body hums
Swells with a song of Doe Ray Me Fa Soooo…
Slow rolls in silk or satin sounding sweet until
Smeared make-up shows scars.
Exposed.
Vulnerable, susceptible to sorrow, scared.
You say see you soon.
Avoiding shifty side glances.
Searching for shirts, sock, shoes.
Steeling away whatever split-second signs of serenity.
Separating feeling from adrenaline and serotonin.
Seconds turn Spring to September.
A cycle of see, salutations, sex, so long.
Smothering any sense of security in seeing your smile.
Suitcases sit by stairs.
Preparing to step through looking glass.
Lamenting at footprints left in the sand.
Surface deep you splash trying to save what has already succumbed to sickness.
Sputtering, sinking, I’ve already forgotten you.
Sand shifts. Footprints scatter.
Solids now broken.
Simply said this was not that serious.
Not a sonnet rising and falling with iambic pentameter.
A selective soliloquy sold with strands of sarcasm.
Shit. Our start and finish was synonymous.
Stop looking for single reasons.
Signs.
This ship has sailed.
No Dear John.

Sincerely
Signed
Staats

America Unleashed

I heard the funniest comment the other day. I called a friend to chit-chat and they said, "Can I call you back I am on a long distance call." This may not be so strange to you. But I called a cell phone. Of a friend that was out-of-state. And it made me laugh. My Mom used to say that was the reason why she didn't click over when she had another call, because she was a long distance call, which she was paying more for.

Second funny thing. I got asked why didn't I have a house phone. I replied because I didn't need another unnecessary bill. I use my cell phone as personal computer, GPS, music player, digital camera, calculator, notepad, calendar, and sometimes to make phone calls. I am in all senses of the word tethered to my technology. How many of us aren't? If you are reading this put your hands down.

We are findable, transparent, stereotypical, quotable, and virtually addicted to the leashes that keep us connected to each other. I am not excited for this advancement in technology. It reminds me of the movie Crash and Demolition Man. Don Cheadle says in Crash, "We're always behind this metal and glass...I think we miss that touch so much that we CRASH into each other just to feel something." And in Demolition Man the characters no longer touch during intimate moments, everything is experienced through sensory machines.

When was the last time you sent a loved one a hand written letter? Or you called friends and family to let them know you had made it to a destination safely. Little things like respecting a person's character and not interrupting them at 2am with text messages that only say "R U up?" Niceties are no longer extended. Facebook invades our personal lives so much that I do not look forward to my 10 year reunion. I am greeted by smiling faces, marriage announcements, bridal showers, baby's births, and a constant barrage of daily updates from people that I haven't seen since I picked up my diploma back in Baltimore.




Some say it's a plus. But people are supposed to fade from your peripheral for a reason. They are not meant to have access to your life's ambitions, your joys, sorrows, all that you would share with only people who know your middle name. Now for business purposes network away. But I am not narcissistic enough to think that my life is that important to other people or even entertaining enough for you to "follow" my every move. Or that I would want to update you every time I wiped my ass while I was fighting off Swine Flu.




I just would like to give the excuse one day that "sorry I missed your call I was out of town/out the house/out of my mind". And that be reason enough for not calling you. Texting you. Twitting you. Adding you. Sending you requests. Sharing songs/video/music. I just would like some anominity that life is supposed to afford you. We have to realize that our next generation of leaders will have belonged to some internet community, that unless they know at age 13 they want to be President there will be images of them that people will refer to to assassinate their character with just a right-click and save.





I've driven back home after getting to work because I left my cell phone. Felt like I had walked out of the house without pants on. We will never be unleashed. But maybe we can give ourselves a little more personal space from prying eyes and scrolling screens.

Salvation

One night while watching television I felt a moment of enlightenment. Not something profound, self-evaluating, but undeniably spiritual. I was watching Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (yes I am a nerd) and the main character John Connor asks his Uncle what he would be like in the future. And I began to wonder what if would be like to know who or what you are to become in the future. Especially if the man/woman you are to become will be herald as the Saviour of Man. Imagine the pressure. Imagine the task set ahead of you second guessing your actions, trying to be something that everyone thinks you should be. Now before this becomes a piece of "living your life for you and not what other people think", I realized ironically that this story sounded very familiar.




If you have seen any of the Terminator movies this should be easy to connect the dots.

Dot 1: John Connor
Dot 2: End of the World
Dot 3: Mother impregnated by a man that hasn't been born yet
Dot 4: Saviour of Man
Dot 5: One "man" manages to rise from the ashes to put right what is wrong with the world.



Recognize the story. For you that need a better picture.

Dot 1: JC. (Jesus Christ)
Dot 2: The Apocolypse
Dot 3: The Virgin Mary
Dot 4: Son of God
Dot 5: Revelations

You could only imagine the joy I felt in this story. That something sown so deep in cinema was a road map to Faith.

Belief.


Salvation.


Now I am far from any Saint. Nor do I prescribe to much of organized religion (although I still consider myself Christian). And before zealots tear this piece to pieces we have to realize that all people do not have the same walk with God. That His path is different for all of us. That faith is defined in believing without seeing. That salvation comes only to those that welcome it. The correlation isn't that difficult to make.

Death. Famine. Destruction by fire. End of Days. Judgement Day. Salvation. The last two being actual subtitles taken from the Terminator movies.

We all know the story of Jesus as told by the Bible. We have listened to or tried to sweep under the rug the thought of Jesus Christ being not the Son of God but a man who lived and died. I believe that the story is blended. I think the same way that God chose men to spread His word the same could have been done in the story of Jesus. That this man had such a relationship with God that it was as if God lived in him. Does that make him more human yes. Does that make him any less of a Messiah to people no. I feel that with religion its one way or the other. That there does not exist room for doubt. None of know for sure. And I don't want to use this piece to start a huge debate on Church and Religion (two different things).

All I wanted to point out is that our purpose is not always foretold. That our future is not written in stone. But if...just if...you were told that you would be the beginning and the end. That you would lead millions. Save countless others. Do great work. Perform miracles. Bring Heaven to Earth. Create paradise. Rise against the Dark and Evil in the world. How would you handle the pressure? Would you buckle? Would you strive to be the best man or woman you could be one day at a time? Would you make mistakes? What would you want your legacy to be? That you were infalliable? That you were untouchable? Would you want people to model themselves after your reality or your perception? How would you change your story so that everyone found Salvation?






(some) Churches should focus on changing their message to Salvation...it's for everyone. Rather than casting the first stone. Let he who is without sin...