Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, …” *
‘I have never told anyone that before.’
One of the greatest privileges of my life is to hear those words echo in my ears. Those words spoken to me by fellow humans, mostly women, who are sharing their deepest tragedies and most sacred stories of pain and betrayal, woundedness or shame is an honor I hold close to my heart. To be confided in for the first time with a secret so deep and so painful is truly a sacred trust.
I’ve said those same words before. To a handful of men and women who welcomed me with sincerity, empathy and care, I have poured out the vile, the unholy and the ungodly acts committed against me. I have born my soul to others who invited me in, much like statues of liberty, holding a torch of freedom as a light that I might unburden myself and find a hospitality for my heart.
Honestly, there is a home among those who share like-stories of domestic violence, intimate partner violence, the after-effects of addiction, child abuse, sexual violence or sexual abuse — a club we would have never asked to join. But there is an understanding. There is a knowing. There is a camaraderie beyond words seen in each other’s eyes, felt in an embrace or met with the quiet pause.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but it still does.
When elderly women choose me as the first holder of their most intimate story, I listen carefully. For in them, often, I see a full life lived without the baggage that focus and attention of their problems could have brought them. Back in the day, you kept things close. You lived on.
These next poems are composites of some sacred stories— the common thread of abuse, the uncommon thread of an orphan’s story— and the prompting to be a statue of liberty to those around us. Young or old, listening to someone’s heart, hearing what they are not saying and allowing their eyes to be the lamp light of their soul— the world needs more of this, not less.
I wrote the poems in tandem, on the same nights and in the same space, so I am sharing them in tandem as well: Statues of Liberty and Survivors, Survive.
An observation I make in one of the poems is that when survivors talk amongst themselves, I’ve noticed that (often) they talk about their abuse like it’s what they had for dinner. Atrocities that would make the next person gasp or weep or shudder is often met with a calm nonchalant rendering of what happened. Lived experiences are just that. Their reality was every bit as common or ‘normal’ to them as what you ate for dinner so chatting about it sometimes exudes and excludes an emotional explanation not equal to its weight,
These poems speak for themselves.
They tell ‘I have never told anyone that before’ stories.
These are stories that lonely souls — afraid of the dark— will tell you, too, if you open your heart, your time and yourself to becoming a Statue of Liberty. A curiosity of spirt can heal.
We all need each other to survive.
We need to become a melting pot of people who care; of people who dare; of people, rare. That someday, we thrive.
Statues of Liberty
My lights are on
My door is open
You knock, I answer
Come in
Everyone is just waiting
To be asked the simple question
And pausing to see if you care
If you dare
If you can handle to see their soul, bare
If it’s safe to share
If you are the one, rare
Who understands what this
feels like
looks like
smells like
sounds like
tastes like
‘Cause it ain’t pretty
My whole soul, my story
All shut up inside my chest
Never waning, never rest
My past wasn’t really the best
I feel like such a mess
I’d rather keep it close to the vest
But you asked, I’ll answer
This is me
I will confess I was an orphan
I will concede I was afraid
I will claim I asked to die at age 7 or 8
I will carry ‘it’ with me longer than I carried anything else so heavy
I’m still scared of the dark
I still remember the bars
It still stays with me
The cottage, the hard
Dad touched me funny
It still haunts me at night
I never told anyone this part
And now, I stay up late
It’s my one great escape
I close the blinds right
Let the fears get too sleepy
So they give up the fight
I’m 75 years old.
Thank you for asking
Thank you
For hanging the sign
From your forehead that says:
Tell me your stories
Tell me your hard
Tell me your worries
Tell me your scars
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, …” *
May we be statues of liberty
Giving souls a place to unburden their past
Envision a new country
Where their weariness can rest
With a fleeting curiosity
As we listen to their whole selves
May we be beacons of light
Welcoming them to a new place
Of home
Amongst brothers and sisters, fellow travelers,
fellow immigrants, refugees,
orphans, aliens, and strangers in this world
May we ask in order to listen
May we offer an understanding beyond our experience
May we open our hearts to a hospitality beyond brick and mortar
May we be,
The ones rare
Who dare
Who care.
CJZ:sadiespeaks
11/7/22
1/11/23
* The Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation, Inc.
Survivors, Survive
We talk about poison
Like it doesn’t kill
We talk about venom
Like it doesn’t blister the skin
We talk about tragedy like it’s
What we ate for dinner
Because survivors, survive
They stay up late
Close the blinds tight
Get real sleepy
So their fears are too tired
To keep them up another night
She remembers the bars that held her
In the pitch black night alone
Crib bars surrounding the little child
Only an orphanage, no home
Yet she lights up a room with her smile
She thanks God every day
She gifts those around her with goodies
She boasts she’s a follower of The Way
And her husband died
Her best friend died
Her adoptive mother is gone
Her wicked parents, forgiven tho undeserved
Yet she lives on
And she graced me with her kindness
She blessed me with her faith
She taught me real survivors
Are smothered with joy
And laced with thanks
She doesn’t know why she was poisoned
With parents unfit and weak
But she says it with calm and acceptance
Like liver and onions are a treat
Cause survivors, survive
And the way they do
Is sharing their story
With the understanding few
If I have to be in this club
The one that abusers forced me in
I’m glad to be counted
with my dear survivor friends
People of faith
Who live with a countenance
that defies their abuser
Every time they smile
Every time they shine
Every time they rise up
Every mountain they climb
We may speak of our personal tragedies
Like it’s what we ate for dinner
But to live our lives
Like we are at a banquet feast
Celebrating
Laughing
Passing the bubbly for a toast
Choosing victory over defeat
Dining
Talking well into the night
That’s my favorite kind of company
My favorite club
Because I want to be like them
when I’m old
Like beautiful orphan Barbara Ann
Because survivors, survive.
Survivors, strive
And at last, we thrive.
CJZ:sadiespeaks
11/7/22
1/11/23