state of confusion
Hired to do some renovation,
He arrived when the mood suited,
A carpenter of reputation,
Which was now being refuted.
He said he was an insomniac,
He drank Coke and smoked all day,
Coworkers said he was a maniac,
And at times acted that way.
As he sanded and coaxed wood,
His mood was generally bleak,
He seemed most misunderstood,
Some days he did seldom speak.
With patience unprecedented,
I silently watched him work,
His coworkers he resented,
Company of others he did shirk.
But his story gradually unfolded,
As every surface began to layer,
In his hands, wood molded,
In the fine dusts of his labor.
The gossip was quickly spread,
Of alleged criminal lunacy,
A tale of a girlfriend now dead,
Hinting at an amazing story.
He told me of their time together,
Ten years of happiness,
Until an accident in bad weather,
Took her to a dark abyss.
Her brain had been damaged,
Her long term memory gone,
Left tortured and ravaged,
Missing lyrics to every song.
One night she took her life away,
Using his very own handgun.
He found her there in that way,
Quickly dialed Nine-One-One.
His prints had been on the gun,
He was arrested as a suspect,
They said she couldn’t have been the one,
This victim they could not protect.
But it was ruled, he was in the clear,
At the time of death, a tight alibi,
Lost everything that he held dear,
As he said this, he began to cry.
I pulled him to me and held him tight,
He smelled of cigarettes and dust,
Told him one day it would be alright,
Gve him a simple gift of trust.
My friends thought I had lost my mind,
Befriending a man accused of murder,
But I saw someone gentle and kind,
And would hear protests no further.
The job done, he prepared to leave,
I gave him a book of poetry,
On suicides and how we grieve,
and as he left, he smiled at me.
© 2000 Corinne Bailey
[This message has been edited by Corinne (edited 05-29-2000).]