The Stranger

Somewhere in Arkansas, a sheriff spoke these words to a condemned man:

Listen, stranger,

I visited all the towns

where you swear you have been,

but nobody remembers your face.

Maybe you lost it

in that city of stone

where you learned how to hate;

maybe the wind stole it

on those God-forsaken mountains,

or maybe it drowned in that river

that seemed deep

like an end-of-day sleep.

Maybe, I say, maybe

it fell

on that dusty path

and lies buried

with your rebellious years.

That woman swears

never to have loved you,

and the shepherd is ready to swear

you are no baptized son

of the church.

I’m sorry, stranger,

if tonight you won’t drink whisky

nor ride your steed.

I’m sorry if come sunset

your saddlebag remains empty;

but do not despair, and remember:

one day or another

the rope smiles at all men.

Consider yourself lucky,

for we’ll bury you

far from all noise,

over there, in that field of grass.

Nobody among us remembers your face,

but I swear I will search it

until the day of my death.

And when I finally find it,

I will tell the whole world

the story of a man

forgotten by all.

When the rope tightened, the sheriff pulled his hat down over his eyes and walked down the stairs. His search for the unloved and unknown face of that man had just begun...

by Jason R. Forbus