Poem "From the Kitchen"

I have a friend
who was eight years old the night
his drunk mother attacked him with a kitchen knife
he left that night, with no choice but to run
and never went back

I know a man who remembers
sneaking past sleeping nuns
in the dead of night to dig in the ground
for turnips and potatoes that the harvest
might have missed
recalls devouring them in
in the raw cold dark

I met a woman who was raped
by every man she ever met
until she was thirteen
battered and drunk she ran
to the streets and learned to make her living
quietly violated

I know a woman
who birthed her only child alone
in a hotel room, raised the child up
in a van
until her government saved the child
and left the mother to starve

I know a guy who got mugged
on his way home to home and family
got beaten so bad
he was never the same
lost the job, the wife, the child
and tonight, has no place to sleep

and Gabrielle, was a babe in arms
when his country went to war
he watched his world burn
with a gun in his tiny hands, was a killer
by puberty spends his days and nights
in empty doorways , on mission steps
in dark alleys for the last 20 years
trying to die rather than remember

I know a beautiful girl
who had it all, until she got so sick
so confused by the vacancies, and voices
that she couldn't sleep
and forgot to eat
and frightened everyone so much
with her ranting that they turned out the porch lights
and double bolted the doors

My friends are homeless
frightened, threatened, and alone

I have friends
who fight harder, daily,
than you will ever have to
and all they are crying for
is one
open
door

Lara Thesenvitz—Cook, First United