For Connor<\/p>\n
This is a poem for Connor
\nConnor who I have never met,
\nConnor who I may never know:<\/p>\n
For two whole hours I listened to his girlfriend\u2019s mother
\nas she talked behind me in a strip mall coffee shop
\nabout the boy whose soul she was trying to save.
\nIt was 11 o\u2019clock on a Sunday morning
\nand this is how I had always needed to learn about holiness.<\/p>\n
She says \u201cConnor has a good heart
\nbut he was never taught to use it.\u201d
\nAnd I think to myself,
\nwhat funny things we overhear
\nwhen we are always listening.
\nFrom what I gather the problem is this:
\nher daughter is a meek white lamb
\nfrom the land of picket fences
\nand Connor is what is born out of adrenaline,
\nreformed and settled at the bottom of his stomach
\nbut still not converted.
\nAnd as for myself,
\nI have been caught sinning so few times in public
\nthat there are fools who have mistaken me for holy.
\nBut at that very moment,
\nI had been through something
\nvery recently, which was
\nvery similar, and which ended
\nvery badly for me.
\nSo I feel for him,
\nand I press my ear so far into that lady\u2019s throat
\nthat I can hear her breathing above the espresso machine.<\/p>\n
Because Connor and I
\nare the same shape
\nof wide eyed wishing wells
\nwho want love
\nmore than any other form of redemption.
\nBut at that moment
\nlove was falling through for the both of us.
\nSo I swallowed my coffee slowly,
\nand I listened as hard as I could.<\/p>\n
Because that morning
\nthe only thing that could save me
\nwas to feel just a little less alone,
\nwhich is exactly what his story did for me.
\nI should mention
\nif I hadn\u2019t been listening then
\nI might not still be standing here
\nto speak to you.
\nSo I wonder what makes an angel.
\nDoes it have nothing to do with wings?
\nBefore they have their wings
\ndo they come with names like Connor?
\nDo they suffer like the rest of us?<\/p>\n
And this is not a poem.
\nThis is just a thank you note
\nto Connor who I have never met,
\nConnor who I may never know.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mark Anderson<\/a> puts together the Broken Mic poetry open mic (and, according to its Facebook page,<\/a> \u201cemotional spaceship ride\u201d) each week at Neato Burrito in downtown Spokane. Age 24, the Inlander recently described him as the \u201cgrandfather\u201d of Spokane\u2019s poetry scene.<\/a> That\u2019s because he\u2019s fought to keep performance poetry alive in Spokane through Broken Mic and poetry slam competitions. Recently, he was awarded the Ken Warfel Fellowship, for poets who \u201chave made substantial contributions to their poetry communities.\u201d<\/p>\n