Bad Reception

You come to a door, 
are just outside, 
hand on the knob;

you can hear singing
and it seems
the verses clearly
and strongly say

step up,
you broken dogs, you
stolen lambs, you
marked and burned darlings
of those who long ago
gave up hope of seeing you 
whole again;

step up
and tell every detail
of where you’ve been and how
it felt to get here
and we will take those tales
and make them part of our own tale; 

step up,
and someday those you left behind
will hear your stories in ours 
and they will come for you
and take you into
their long-vacant embraces
and on this soil,
all will be well for all;

step up, 
step and over the threshold
and come in and 
sing.

You step up and
over the threshold —

all that noise was coming out of
a tiny radio from the last century.
The singing, the outstretched hands,
the promise? All coming from
a torn speaker.  How did
such bad reception
sound so good
from out there, back beyond

the door you just came through
that is
no longer there?

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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