Who does one speak to -
About ordinary sadness?
Who does one call on –
When one feels Brown?
For it often won’t seem big enough, or dangerous enough
To warrant a phone call to a friend,
Or a wailing scream,
Or even one teardrop,
When it is ordinary.
It is an ordinary feeling of
A bitter estrangement
From all relations of
And unexpected belonging.
In the parting of body and truth,
I ask for recognition
To be seen and held
In those eyes.
In those eyes that feel, as well as see,
And within their purview we feel us.
A seeing that is not White Male gazing,
A looking rather than spectating.
To be felt: to be recognized as more than one.
A doctor’s eyes don’t do that kind of seeing.
A neighbour’s eyes don’t do that kind of seeing.
My boss’s eyes won’t do that kind of seeing.
And making a picture of you – of all of you
In the seer’s mind.
And holding the sorrowful you – and all of you
In the seer’s arms.
And conceiving with understanding – with all of you
In the seer’s eyes.
Such simple remedies are these
For this ordinary sadness;
Such ordinary remedies are these.