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The Court Room
by Joseph D’Antoni
Epigraph:
Inspired by testifying as an expert in a major case.
The hush is heavy—
marble, oak, and air—
all holding breath.
I wait at the witness stand,
the oath still echoing,
truth rising like dust in a shaft of light.
The judge’s eyes are steady,
the lawyers pace their lines,
each word a measured stone
in the architecture of proof.
My voice enters the record—
a quiet instrument of reason
played against the music of doubt.
Somewhere in the gallery
a pen trembles;
justice is taking notes.
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I speak of numbers,
of what was lost and found,
of time and consequence—
how value bends in the unseen air
between act and injury.
Outside, a siren calls
through the city’s veins,
but here,
the silence rules.
The gavel waits.
Each fact weighs its soul.
And as I rise, released,
I feel the ancient pulse—
that justice, though blind,
sees through every witness,
and somewhere within
the scales begin to breathe.
Family Law
by Joseph D’Antoni
All enter through the courthouse door,
departments divided on multiple floors –
hallways aligned with oak-framed doors.
Hard oak benches silently paused,
for courtroom proceedings of various cause.
Pockets emptied for the X-ray display,
a metal detector greets all who stay.
Against the far wall stands a long, wavering line,
women and children – few men linger behind.
Pregnant women lean on pale grey walls,
patiently standing on cold granite floors.
Mothers with babies gather like sheep,
gripping straying children, hollow with sleep.
Most clothed in worn dresses from the hood,
faces gone blank for what’s not understood.
Confused older children linger in place,
waiting for outcomes they cannot shape.
After nights spent on a nearby street,
all crave a soft pillar to borrow sleep.
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A long line since early morning waits,
for the dreaded calling of separation dates.
This court can’t rule on what passes heaven’s gates,
for earthly matters of those most forbidden,
reasons to keep or surrender children.
Decisions to keep or forfeit considered,
where the child’s home shall next be admitted.
Complex rulings of divorce and custody care –
for some find this room an answer to prayer,
whoever prevails, all leave with despair.
Well-dressed attorneys hurry past,
offering this line no lingering glance.
Moving quickly toward the elevator wall,
for battles three floors above it all.
Upstairs, legal tender is time priced in money,
down here, the currency is peanut butter and honey.
Despite precedent, briefs carefully studied,
divorce and custody remain impossibly muddied.
This is no context for wealth or acclaim,
but which parent or guardian bears the child’s name.
Here, on the first-floor line of hope we stand in leery awe,
under the ceiling sign we call, Family Law.
Hurricane Watch
By Joseph D’Antoni
Turbulence brews far out at sea,
anointed anger the heavens decree.
Dark-laden clouds grow ever larger,
no longer to roam to find safe harbor.
An eye emerges in spiral order,
undaunted by forecasts or man-made border.
In counterclockwise direction she spins,
the devil awakens - her journey begins.
Enhanced by earth’s rotation unchecked,
increasing her spin by the Coriolis Effect.
Spiral motion from west to east,
barometric pressure projects it’s grief.
This horrid eye with wind at her back,
shuffle purple clouds all dressed in black.
Speeding toward magnetic north,
beckoning land to her treacherous wroth.
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Repeating scenes of prior disaster-
Katrina, Maria, Helene: siblings by name,
kindred sprits of dubious fame,
all bearing the marks of fearful pain.
Satellite images soon will predict,
where on land her anger inflicts.
No buoyant ship nor seawall stone,
will spare survivors who stand alone.
Electric poles snap like matchsticks fly,
launching unguided missiles through the sky.
Twisted wires spark fire with billowing glow,
orange embers rain on those below.
Alarms scream louder, to no avail,
far less treated among the frail.
As death departs on battered shores,
loved one’s cling to floating stores.
Stranded on rooftops from homes remote,
riding waves like vessels, barely afloat.
Sailing past trees as the current grows faster,
hands grasping branches for life’s last chances.
Rooftop vessels with little draft,
will soon join graveyards of similar craft.
Not let your fate become your master,
seek asylum from this morbid disaster.
Failing to make your landing soon,
will cast you in this swampy lagoon.
Few souls return with fervent desire,
to rebuild structures much stronger and higher.
For those who return must also wonder,
what misery awaits from future storms and thunder.
For in the life of hurricanes departed,
hope emerges from each with a new life charter.
Console your kin who bear endless grief,
try to awaken their long-forgotten beliefs.