Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Poem for Stephen Pitcairn - from the residents of Charles Village
We felt the knife, too, an awful
stab in our collective hearts,
a pain so deep we have spent
sleepless hours thinking of you.
We want to bring you back-
our neighbor-your handsome face
once more animated, curious, kind.
We want to present you,
whole and vibrant, to your mother,
so connected to you
she listened to your birth cries
twenty-four years ago,
then heard over the phone
the unimaginable agony of your death.
A full moon blessed Baltimore that night
you stepped off the bus at Penn Station,
inhaled the balmy air,
your legs stiff from a long ride.
Always a walker, you made the choice
to travel by foot the last mile home.
A call to your mom wrapped your journey
in sweet family and warmth.
Perhaps, you spoke about your weekend
visit with your sisters in New York,
your plans to celebrate
your upcoming birthday with friends.
Evil appeared on St. Paul Street,
penetrated the neighborhood we love.
You pleaded for humanity,
but evil attacked.
In the darkness, a man emerged,
a gentle neighbor who held your hand,
comforted you. Oh, Stephen, please know
Reggie was all of us, on our knees in the street.
Stephen Pitcairn-son, brother, researcher, friend-
dedicated, promising, brilliant, fun,
we did not save you.
You died in Charles Village.
We cannot change what happened; even
the moon wept, her face a mother's wound.
Yesterday, your family in Florida buried you.
Did they spit out the word Baltimore?
Stephen, what can we offer you,
we who also grieve your loss:
a world without monsters, without scars,
a village without crime?
We offer you resolve, the will
to make good change.
We offer you a safe haven in our hearts,
a warm place at our dinner tables.
We offer you this poem, a space
in each lovely Charles Village garden.
We offer you a walk on a gorgeous day,
a meal at the Paper Moon Diner.
We offer to hold the hand
of everyone who needs us.
Stephen, in your duffle bag
that night you carried your dreams.
If every Charles Village resident
holds on to your life vision,
imagine the powerful impact
on this hazy, damaged world.
We give thanks for the days
you walked among us.
We give thanks to your parents
for sharing you.
In quiet, simple moments,
life moves forward:
small gestures, greetings, the way
we touch the flowers.
Stephen Pitcairn, your light continues,
brighter than the fullest Charles Village moon.
Shirley J. Brewer
July 31, 2010
stab in our collective hearts,
a pain so deep we have spent
sleepless hours thinking of you.
We want to bring you back-
our neighbor-your handsome face
once more animated, curious, kind.
We want to present you,
whole and vibrant, to your mother,
so connected to you
she listened to your birth cries
twenty-four years ago,
then heard over the phone
the unimaginable agony of your death.
A full moon blessed Baltimore that night
you stepped off the bus at Penn Station,
inhaled the balmy air,
your legs stiff from a long ride.
Always a walker, you made the choice
to travel by foot the last mile home.
A call to your mom wrapped your journey
in sweet family and warmth.
Perhaps, you spoke about your weekend
visit with your sisters in New York,
your plans to celebrate
your upcoming birthday with friends.
Evil appeared on St. Paul Street,
penetrated the neighborhood we love.
You pleaded for humanity,
but evil attacked.
In the darkness, a man emerged,
a gentle neighbor who held your hand,
comforted you. Oh, Stephen, please know
Reggie was all of us, on our knees in the street.
Stephen Pitcairn-son, brother, researcher, friend-
dedicated, promising, brilliant, fun,
we did not save you.
You died in Charles Village.
We cannot change what happened; even
the moon wept, her face a mother's wound.
Yesterday, your family in Florida buried you.
Did they spit out the word Baltimore?
Stephen, what can we offer you,
we who also grieve your loss:
a world without monsters, without scars,
a village without crime?
We offer you resolve, the will
to make good change.
We offer you a safe haven in our hearts,
a warm place at our dinner tables.
We offer you this poem, a space
in each lovely Charles Village garden.
We offer you a walk on a gorgeous day,
a meal at the Paper Moon Diner.
We offer to hold the hand
of everyone who needs us.
Stephen, in your duffle bag
that night you carried your dreams.
If every Charles Village resident
holds on to your life vision,
imagine the powerful impact
on this hazy, damaged world.
We give thanks for the days
you walked among us.
We give thanks to your parents
for sharing you.
In quiet, simple moments,
life moves forward:
small gestures, greetings, the way
we touch the flowers.
Stephen Pitcairn, your light continues,
brighter than the fullest Charles Village moon.
Shirley J. Brewer
July 31, 2010
Murder in Charles Village
It's been a long time since I've posted on my blog, and I had planned to revive with a focus on poetry. However, July 25, 2010, changed all that.
On that night, in my community of Charles Village, a young Johns Hopkins researcher, Stephen Pitcairn, was robbed and stabbed to death as he walked from Penn Station to his home in the 3000 block of St. Paul Street. Stephen was killed one block from my house. His assailants were a man and woman - both repeat offenders with long rap sheets.
Stephen's death stunned the community for its senseless violence. Stephen handed over his wallet. His attackers killed him anyway. He had been talking on his cell phone to his mother - who listened as her only son lost his life. Stephen was a gifted young man - two days shy of his 24th birthday - who had planned to become a physician. At the time of his death, he was focusing on breast cancer research.
I wrote this "Poem for Stephen Pitcairn," on behalf of the residents of Charles Village.
On that night, in my community of Charles Village, a young Johns Hopkins researcher, Stephen Pitcairn, was robbed and stabbed to death as he walked from Penn Station to his home in the 3000 block of St. Paul Street. Stephen was killed one block from my house. His assailants were a man and woman - both repeat offenders with long rap sheets.
Stephen's death stunned the community for its senseless violence. Stephen handed over his wallet. His attackers killed him anyway. He had been talking on his cell phone to his mother - who listened as her only son lost his life. Stephen was a gifted young man - two days shy of his 24th birthday - who had planned to become a physician. At the time of his death, he was focusing on breast cancer research.
I wrote this "Poem for Stephen Pitcairn," on behalf of the residents of Charles Village.
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