My Brothers

MY BROTHERS I sat in the cement room at a barren table. Looking around there was nothing to see. Then the door opened, I knew from the sound, For it cracked and clanked a deafening resound. In they filed, one by one; Some wore grins, some head down. They seated themselves, some close some far, Staring at me, locked in a room adorned with bars. Prisoners, each and every one, For what I knew not, nor cared to know. All of them locked in this house of stone, Though different yet not, for this was their home. Some I had met before, but back once more they came. It saddened my heart that I knew their name. To the new, not all, but a few, This was a break and they cared not why I came. The evening began as many before, Names were taken as well as the floor. I tried to be light, not let them see my pain, For it burned so deeply and not in shame. They could be a brother, husband or father, Of that no doubt was there. They could have been one of these to me, But for the Grace of G-d, my family remains free. Sometime when they are reading I look around at each one, Trying to understand what terrible thing had been done, To cause another man, a brother, a husband or father, To lock them up thus, like animals lead to the slaughter. Someone would laugh, but how hollow it would sound, Trying to pretend all was cool and in control. But L-rd, dear L-rd, at night when they lay, I am so very, very certain tears flood any laughter away. © Shammah 1993 [Inspired while doing volunteer work in a men’s prison in Canada]