I wrote the following poem for Trayvon’s mother, Sybrina. But I’d like to send it out as a condolence to the Crutcher Family.
I mourned so deeply that I hurt, physically.
I mourned for the children.
Mine, hers, and yes, even theirs.
I mourned, so deeply, because I knew her suffering
Like it was my own.
Because it is my own.
I know her agony, her tears, and her shame.
“Shame?” you ask.
Yes, because she was not there.
Oh, God how it must hurt knowing that he called for her
Yes! I am well acquainted with her demons.
Hate, anger, shame, guilt, remorse, and pity
Her demons are my very close companions.
Old friends with whom I commune daily.
With whom I share my deepest secrets, joys, and hopes.
They are everything to me.
And everything has been stilted and tinted by their presence
Nothing has escaped.
I have never eaten a single meal that they have not shared.
Drank a glass of wine that they did not pour
Or had conversation where they did not offer up their opinion
Yes, they are with me daily
Excerpt is from, ‘A Woman’s Voice: Book of Poems
Eliza D. Ankum
A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth