He sat in the gallery for so long, quiet,
I had barely registered him in my sight.
Other matters held my attention.
In truth, I noticed first the dark suits.
But then he rose to give his testimony
And all eyes in the courtroom were on him.
Well, almost. His open gaze was only on me,
While the prosecutor eyed me warily.
There was no guile in this man’s face,
And I caught myself leaning forward.
There was trust in his eyes, and hope
That his brother would be found innocent.
I listened carefully to his simple words,
And, in them, evidence of a truth.
/ / /
This poem was written in response to the Norman Rockwell painting above. Thanks to Margo Roby at Wordgathering for her Tuesday Tryout.