What No One Else Sees

What No One Else Sees

(“So Hagar named the Lord who spoke to her, ‘You are the God who sees me,’ for she said, ‘Here I have seen one who sees me!’” Genesis 16:13)

It’s another grey dawn and she wonders who
sees her uneventful life.
She’s only a slave, a pawn, someone put upon
by hidden bruises on her arms and brain.

It’s another piercing sunrise and he ponders the
numb outrage that has stunned his best intentions.
He’s only an ant in a hole, undistinguished, anguished
and sometimes wears disguises just to elicit a smile.

It’s another silent morning; though the music swirls
throughout the house,
words from church and worship, how can they feel empty;
but they bring so little to fill this soul; this agony
that so few ever see, hidden even from her sometimes
in the constant tinnitus that is too common.

It’s another isolated morning; though the music meets
him face to ear;
wordless, he’d rather not sing, and still feels empty;
waiting for something so large to heal the composure he
lost along the way. He hides from humans these days,
afraid they will find, see and touch the source of his
daily tears; duly confessed but still a torrent.

It’s another hollow afternoon and she waits for her
children to come home.
Her life, her joy and her frame of reference;
they fill her heart and she fears the day they will leave.
Who sees the tears held back; the words never spoken,
the doubts that make her feel she is worth less than the
perfect people who never speak their pain and never see
the boredom; the weeping fruit of hurts unspoken.

It’s another afternoon of pain and he waits for a simple
word or friend, or anyone who can see how brittle he’s become.
Don’t call him strong just because he writes a few lines when
the daggers are dividing his mind.
Who sees the tears every afternoon? The next-door neighbor,
the friend known forever, anyone who has seen him cringe.
Shouldn’t they know better? Would someone please see better?

Would someone please see what no one else sees and not run away
at the sight of people so out of place, out of time, so out of tears to shed that
by all appearances they are as normal as anyone else who never cries
when the world has left them stranded.