A numbered card held high, the emcee called his name
He sauntered up to the microphone with assured yet humble body language
While inside his mind he switched poems that was about to be performed
the hands of time reflected 9:30pm in St. Louis that night
He closed his eyes; stepped back from the microphone, and inhaled
he begun with the song “Precious Lord Take My Hand”…
unbeknownst to him or the audience, that back home in Oklahoma
His grandmother took her last breath

She was there in that moment, she watched her grandson compete in finals

What made him change his poem?
What made her take her last breath at that moment?
Why were we all allowed to watch a moment that will never be forgotten?

A week later I sat in a pew by the back of a church where she will be eulogized
Statements and stories reflected upon her character
that lives on through her grandchildren, and specifically my friend
In his character, the way he relates to life I begun to see her reflection
From our mentors we adorn ourselves with clothes of values
these ageless themes of values get passed down generation to generation

And I ask

Why I am there that day at the church?
How did I deserve a friend I could support in his time of sorrow?

And now I am up on the mic spewing words
Why am I here?
Why are you there in the audience listening?
What will you do with ideas poets spew out?
Why do ordinary people get the gift of writing poetry?

It is Fate

But now what do we do with this fate?
How do we embrace it to impact lives positively day after day?

That answer my friend….Is YOUR fate

08/10/2004

Posted on 01/27/2005
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