"Permission," A Poetry Post

They say a man needs
permission
to leave his family.

Permission to
close his eyes and
rest from his
life of labors.

Permission to
stop suffering.

A man needs permission and
won't let go
unless you
say so.

Even when he's given
all he has and
has no resources,
he will keep pulling
at an empty chest,
scratching the bottom,
looking for a
ram
in the bush.

Even when he's used up
every ounce of his breathing on
struggle
he will keep
straining
against his lungs' request for
rest.

Even when he's
worked his
hands and knees and feet
to the bone
he will
keep going to work,
keep building,
keep destroying and
dragging away
the old timbers.

Even when he's old
and worn,
he won't let go.

He's a man.
He's a miracle.
He's a mountain.

And his woman,
his wife,
his sister,
his mother,
his aunt,
his daughter,
had better understand
his truth.

It may be you,
after all,
that is required
to shake his hand,
and call him inside
out of the rain,
and change his clothes,
and lay him down and tell him:

"Sleep now.
There is no more work
to do today
for you.
Your part is done,
and I can do mine
just fine.
Don't even worry.

I can take it
from here."

-T. D. James-Moss