writer’s bloc - cornell...

Spring 2011, Issue 3

WRITER’SBLOC

WRITERS

EDITORS

LAYOUT

ADVISOREsther Kwan

Adina Rubin-Budick

Residents at Lansing Residential Center and MacCormick

Secure Center

ARTISTS

David Bendezu Michael S. BoydLatasio A. CendalesRob CumberlandChristopherCyrusDeeMichael Shane HaleShane KalbJoshua J. KeppenLucasDanny RinconByron K. Russ Sr.J. RusselMalik SheppardJermaine WestLucas Whaley E. Paris Whitfield

Michael HongEsther Kwan

James SchechterExecutive Director, Cornell Prison Education [email protected]

STAFF

Writer’s Bloc Literary Journal is an independent student publication produced by students in the Cornell Prison Education Program and Cornell University. Writer’s Bloc is an indepdent student organization located at Cornell University who produced and is responsible for the content of this publication. This publication was not reviewed or approved by, nor does it necessarily express or reflect the policies or opinions of, Cornell University or its designated representatives.

EDITOR’S Oneyearago,Writer’sBlocbeganasagrant-fundedCornellstudentinitiativetoletthevoicesofincarceratedstudentsatAuburnCorrectionalFacilitybeheard.Throughbeautifulpoetryandprose,thestudentsoftheCornellPrisonEducationProgramsharedtheirexperiences,memories,andfeelingswiththeirextendedCornellcommunity.Sincethisbeginning,Writer’sBlochasexpandedbeyondtheconfinesofaliteraryjournalandamissionofcreativeself-expressiontoagoalofwidespreadawarenessontheincarcerationsystem.Distributionofthejournalisnowaccompaniedwithabi-annuallectureseriesbyCornellprofessorsandthispastsemester,Writer’sBlocheldaco-sponsoredexhibitionofartworkfromnation-widecorrectionalfacilitieswithPrisonerArtExpress.Throughoutthesemester,weasEditorsnotonlygrappledwithexpandingourplatformasanorganization,butalsowithourfundamentalrolesinheadingWriter’sBloc.Whilespeakingwithourcurrentandformerstudents,werealizedhowfortunatewearetobeapartofthisproject—andhowlittlewecontributeincomparisontothehardworkofourstudents.Withthisinmind,wehavestrivedduringthesemestertomakethiseditionofWriter’sBlocatruehomagetoandproductoftheincarceratedexperience.Writer’sBlocisnotaboutCornell,orCornellstudents—itisaboutourstudentsatAuburnandtheirstoriesthatarerepresentativeoftheprisonpopulationatlarge.Thisjournalisours:Cornellstudents,Auburnstudents,and—inthisissue—studentselsewhere.Forthefirsttimeinthisissue,wewerepermittedtoincludeartworkfromincarceratedstudentsintheArtBeyondCornellprogram.Weaseditorsaresoexcitedaboutthenewadditionofthesepiecesthatgorgeouslyadornthepagesofthisjournal.WhilespeakingwithaformerstudentoftheCornellPrisonEducationProgramduringthesemester,werealizedthatwewereleavingoutacrucialandseldomexaminedpartoftheincarceratedexperience:theemotionalrollercoasterofre-entry.InthisissueofWriter’sBloc,weareproudtoincludeliterarypiecesbyformerstudentsrecountingtheirownexitsfromprisonlife.Aswefurtherourgrowthasapublicationandorganizationinsizeandplatform,wehopethatthisprojectfeelslikemoreofacollaboration.InfutureissueswelookforwardtoinvolvingourstudentsmoreintheeditingandproductionprocessofWriter’sBloc,inhopesthatthisEditor’sLetterwillbewrittenbyajointstaffofCornellandAuburnstudents.Fornow,wearesoproudofthisnewissueandallofitsadditions,andwehopeyouenjoy. EstherKwan AdinaRubin-Budick

LETT

ER

6UntitledLatasio A. Cendales

8Auburn HaikuShane Kalb et al

10The Slaughter of InnocentsRob Cumberland

12Am I complaining too much?David Bendezu

7A Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen

9UntitledAnonymous

11Bedtime StoryMalik Sheppard

13People just don’t know...Michael Shane Hale

14Is Innocence Irrelevant?Danny Rincon 15V-8 Eulogy

Lucas Whaley 16ConfessionsJermaine West

18LovepisodeE. Paris Whitfield 19The Day Jan Wozelwick Saved the

Planet Earth by Letting Her Hair GrowMichael S. Boyd

CO

NTE

NTS

Auburn Correctional Facility Cayuga Correctional FacilityCornell Prison Education Program Instructors and Teaching Assistants

Writer’s Bloc would also like to acknowledge Art Beyond Cornell, a student organization that provides weekly art lessons for the residents at Lansing Residential Center and MacCormick Secure Center. Lansing is a juvenile correction home for young women ages 12 to 18. MacCormick holds young men ages 16 to 21. Through a variety of projects, Art Beyond Cornell hopes to offer a means of expression and growth. In addition to giving weekly lessons, Art Beyond Cornell beautified the facilities, connected other Cornell clubs to the facilities, and held exhibits at Cornell showcasing the residents’ artwork.

SPECIALA Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen

ConfessionsJermaine West

THANKS

Writer`s Bloc Spring 2011

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ShadowsgrowlongBirthwithoutsongFatedtodieUnabletoflyWithbrokenwingsPainthatstingsInthebreastHeartbreak’snest

UntitledLatasio A. Cendales


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Igazedthroughthesteelmeshofthevan’swindow.Itsdarktintonlyaddedtothegloomanddespairofthehauntinglandscape.Barrenfieldsandemptytrees.Emptylikemyheart.Itwasthedaybeforespring.Snowandiceclunginpocketsalongthesideoftheroad,accentedintheshade,likepicturenegatives.Thedrearymorningairpouredthroughthewindowslit,whippingmyfacewithitsicytendrils.Iignoreit,justliketheheater’swarmthblastingmylegs…penetratingmystateissuedbootsandlegirons.Funnyhowmylifeis,howIexistbetweenextremes.Likethemusicinthebackofthevanblastingloudenoughtopenetratetheplexiglassdividerfortheofficers,Idrownitalloutinmysolitude.Idon’tbotheraskingthemtochangeanyofit.LifehasconditionedmetoignorethethingsIcannotcontrol–ahandycopingmechanismformylifeinprison.Whatdiditmatter?Iwasalone.Atthemoment,my“existence”wasinthememoriesofthepast… Itwasjustaweekago.TheycalledmedowntotheChaplin’sofficetoinformmeofhowvaliantlyshe’dfought.Howoftenshe’daskedformeintheperiodsoflucidity,betweenthewavesofpainkillers.Thenshe’dslippedintothecoma.Thestomachaneurysmhaddrainedherlifeawayinebbs,liketherecedingtideasitflowsawayfromthelifelesssand.Herbodywasempty,sustainedbymachinesjustincasethey’dletmeattendherdeathbed.Becauseshehadn’tvisitedmeinthelasttwoyears,theywouldn’tletme.Byimplication,theAdministrationbelievedwedidn’thaveameaningfulenoughrelationshiptowarrantthiswasteoftaxpayers’dollars,justtocoddlealiferlikeme.Facedwiththisfinality,Ihavethempermissiontoremovelifesupportandallowherbrokenandtiredbodytofinallyrest. Shewastobecremated,andI’dneverseeheragain.Longforgottenmemoriesofalifebeforethishellcamefloodingthroughmymind–intimatemomentswithherwhenIwasjustachild,heldsafeinmyGrandmother’swarmembrace.Nothingcouldstopthedelugeoftears,orthespasmsofmychestasIstruggledthrougheachbreath.TheDeacondidhisbesttoconsoleme.ThismanI’dnevermet,gracedmewithhismostpreciousgift–compassion.Intheweekthatfollowed,I’dwritefrantically,tryingtopersuadetheAdministrationtoallowmetoattendhermemorialservice…butintheend,IbelievetothisdaythatitwasthecompassionofDeaconJohnthatsoftenedtheircallousedhearts. Afterfourteenyears,Irelishanyopportunitytoseeoutsideofmyfamiliarwalls.Asthetransportvanspedslowlydownthebackroads,Ilookeduponthelandscape.Mysaddenedheartfoundnosolace.Winter’sdeathlytouchwaseverywhere. Assoofteninlife,perspectivecanchangeeverything.Lifewaseverywherearoundme,aswashope,ifIknowhowtoseeit.Thosetreeswerenotdead,justhidingwhatisvulnerabletotheharmfulfrost.Onlytheirleavesdieinthefallastheydrawlifewithinuntiltheconditionsarerightforregrowth–tobloom!Howsimilararewetothosetrees,thoseofuswho’vebeenhurt?

Wintrytrees,devoidoflifeitseems.Tombstones…theystandwiththeirrootsunseen.Theirleavesdrop,forsaken–atrophied,WhentheSun’slovingwarmth,cannotfeed.Lifedrawnwithin,keptwarm,safeandsound.Tenderrootssearching,deepunderground.Lifeputonhold,tillspringcomesaround,Ardorhelddeep,tilllovecanbefound.

A Reliquary for ArdorJoshua J. Keppen


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Thesuccessionismeanttobeasequence–eitherlightly,sharingoneword–ordirectly,progressingtheidea.Pleaseusethetraditional6-7-6-syllablecount.

Outwhereunderlamps Streetmothsflutterinhighheels;Solitaryswarms(Lucas)

SuchsolitaryThatlivesinbothlightanddark Isfriendtonoone(Dee)

Batsswooptocatchthem, Dropthem,can’tswallowhighheels,Theyhavepointyfriends(J.Russel)

Crowswatchfromthedark,Perchedontheblackhangman’stree. Pointyeyes‘ponfoes.(CyrustheVirus)

Avianmalice Itchesforacawtoarms;Dwarfedbybat’sfervor.(ShaneK.)

UnleashthefuryViewedwithArmageddoneyes Bloodiedfist,myarms(Christopher)

Swarmsofarmedfury VanishintheshadowofMasteringlove’sfire(MichaelShaneHale)

Moth’sanguisheddesireForflickering-dancingfire Cruelfate-noescape(E.ParisWhitfield)

Auburn HaikuShane Kalb et al

Mothtoflame,twirl’dpath Fool’sjourney,courseisthesame.Moon’sbeamswhatitseems.(JoshuaKeppen)

DulleyesinnightsskiesWingswithdust,pheromonespath Imagosinlust.(JoshuaKeppen)

Beakandmaw,sharpclaw Lightsdeceive,stillIbelieveInlove,it’senough(JoshuaKeppen)


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UntitledAnonymous

It’sObvious.Goingupstatewith15toLIFEissomescaryshit.Anxiety.Degradation.Confusion.Loneliness.Enteraworldyoucannotimagine,doesn’tmatterhowmanystoriesyou’veheard.Orhowmanyprisonmoviesyou’veseen.Willyoumakeithomebeforeyourfatherdies?Willyoumakeithomeatall?

Yearsgoby.Itisamazingwhatyoucangrowaccustomedto.Inacoffinwithaglasstop.

Themachinewithpigsforcogssaysyoucango.Home.

Goinghomeissomescaryshit.Anxiety.Expectations.Confusion.Self-Doubt.Youreadathousandbooks?Youdidamillionpush-ups?Youready?

Gateopens.Heartpounds.Walkout.Gotosleep.Dreamofprison.Wakeupnotknowingwhereyouare.Walkoutside.

Strangefeeling.Canpeopletellwhereyou’vebeen?Theycansmellitonyou.


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The Slaughter of InnocentsRob Cumberland

TheframersoftheUnitedStatesConstitutiononceheldtheindividualrighttolife,liberty,andthepursuitofhappinesssoscared,itwasbetterforaguiltymantogofreethanforaninnocentmantobecondemned.TheformationoftheAmericancriminaljusticesystemsetupadoublefail-safeinprotectionofthatsacredindividualright:First,anaccusedistobepresumedinnocentuntilprovenguilty,andsecond,theaccusedmustbefoundguiltybeyondareasonabledoubt.

Analysisofthepresentdayjusticesystemwillrevealaprofoundperversionoftheidealsuponwhichitwasfounded.Forinstance,theconstitutionalrighttoapublictrial.Thisdoesnottranslateintotrialbypublicopinion.Oftentimes,thecourtofpublicopiniontaintstheadversarialprocessofatrial.Publicopiniondoesnotpresumeinnocenceandthusthedetailsofmanyaheinouscrimesareenoughtobrandtheaccusedguilty.Theaccusedthenbecomesthedefendantwhomustnowdefendagainstthepresumptionofguiltandproveinnocence.Theprosecutorialburdenofproofisthereforeplacedonthedefensewhomustnowtrytounringarungbellsincethejurypoolismadeupofmembersofthepubliccourt.

Publicoutcriesforswiftandlastingjusticepromptsprosecutorstoappeasethepublic–leasttheylosevotesorsufferbudgetcuts.Thetruthbecomesobsoleteandtheswordofjusticefallsunmercifullyupontheguiltyandinnocentalike.TheinnocentiscondemnedandBarabbasroamsfree.Crimeswerenolessheinousinthedaysofourfoundingfathersthantheyaretoday.Itwouldhavebeenheinoustothemtodenyacitizenlifeandlibertyasaresultofarushtoconclusionfromhyperboleorfearandrevulsion.Heinousiswhenwecompromiseourconstitutionprotectionsbyfailingtoholditstruthsasevidentforalltotheletter.


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Bedtime StoryMalik Sheppard

Lazy!Lazy!Lazy!you’vebeenthatwaylatelyfor days and days and daysyoulayinadazereflectingthewaysandactionsofthoselackingmotivationandit’skillingthecreationofyourcreativethoughtsbeforethey’rewrought.

EverytimeyoureclineI’minclinedtomakeyouuncomfortablesoyouwouldgetupanddigupthecorpseofyourpoeticthoughtsbutyoujusttwistandturnonmysteelframeinpainfeeling sorry for yourselfbutIrefusetofeelthesame.

Manyamenhaveusedmetolosethee,theylayandlayandlayuntiltheirmindsbegantoplaydelusionaltricksuntilIhearthemsayIquitandtheysurrendertheirsanity.

ThesewallsandIhavewitnessedweakermencryandfelttheirsoulsturnascoldasmine,butwhenyourestonmeIlistentoyourbreastbeat,Ifeeltherelentlesspoundingofasoulthatwon’tgivein,thistellsmeyourfirestillburnswithin,yourheatseepsdeepintomyironskinandIknowyoushan’tbecastamongstthebrokenmenbutyouwillifyoucan’tbrakethisstateoflazinessyou’rein.

Sturdyandfirmmyformoftentransformsintoapitofquicksandwherementalsgetstuckinthemuckof deserted lands,desertswithoutoasis,blurredvisionsofdeferreddreamsreamedwithinferredscreamsofdissipatedpassionsleavesmeaskingquestionsthatcan’tbeansweredbynoneotherthanthebrotherwhohasmademehislovernotknowingIwillsmotherallotheremotionsleavingbreathingnoneotherthandepressionwhenyou’rerestin’day in and day outwithoutcontestingthedroughtofconceptionsasiftheinspirationalspoutiscongestedquestionslikewhydoyounotdothatwhichyouusedtodothingsyoulovetodothingsthatmakeyouyouandbrightenedthehuewhenyourdayswereblue?Doyoulackwithinthedisciplinetoascendtotherealmwheredestinyisdeterminedbyself,wherewealthisnotdeemedbyphysicalthingsbutgleanedthroughspiritualmeans?

ThesequestionsIaskmybedfriend,yourworstenemyIamforthebedyoulazeinwillbethebedyou’reengravedin.


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Thesebarsarewhoopingmyass.Thesewallsareblockingmyview.Thissystemistryingtobreakme.

Thetoiletinmycellisannoyingtheshitoutofme.Theloudbelleverymorningisburstingmyears.Theseguardshavenoregardforyouorme.

Thisplacesomesayremindsthemofslavery’spast.Theserehabilitatorsknowhowtoreadandwrite,butrealisticallytheyhavenoidea.Onewordtodescribetheparoleboard:redundancy.

Theyardscoldhardsurfaceishurtingmyfeet.Thesethoughtsofmelosingmymindareonlyfuellingmyfears.19whenIcamein,15tolifenowwonderingifI’mevergoingtomakeitoutofhere.

Thesetaxpayingcitizensarepaying40grandayeartokeepmealive!Thesepoliticiansarepolitickingaboutpoli-what!?AndherethroughCornellIlearnthatslavelawsweremeanttokeepwhitemenspacehigh,whiletaggingthewordindigenoustotherestofthepopulationleavingeveryoneelsetodie.

Slavery,JimCrow,thencallittheDrugWar?Thanks,MichelleAlexander.Youmeanwomendidn’thavetherighttovoteuntilthe1920s?

WasIreallyborntowitnessallofthis?IknowI’mcomplainingabouthowmuchallthissucks,butpleasetrustme,Iunderstandtheworldissufferingalso,andtherearepeoplewithhardlyanyluck.

SorryifyouthinkI’mcomplainingtoomuch.It’sjustthatI’mtired,woozy,andpissed.Idon’twanttoquit,butthisvirusisdefeatingmycells,andIfeelunprotectedsoyes,I’mgettingsick.

Dedicatedtothepeoplewhosaytheycan’tstandcomplainers.

Am I complaining too much?David Bendezu


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December22,2010DADTrepealed.

Iwhisperthenewstoyou,unconsciouslyawarethataninnerfeargnawsonmybones,thatastraightmanwillrainonourparade.Thesamewaymytearsrainatthenews,theunbelievable,shockingnews.

“Really?”youwhisperback.Theglintofhoperaisesyourbrowfightingthecloudsofadoubtfulfrown.

Weembrace–withoureyesNomorelestwedrawtheirfire.Wearechangingourclothesinthelockerroom.Wedon’tknowhowtoact.Straightoppressionhasbentourbacks,Wedon’tknowhowtostand.

Iwonder,didsomeIrish,Italians,JewsbegrudgetheBlackstheirday?Likesomestraightsbegrudgeusours.Ouronemomentofhavingourmouthsunshackledsotightly.

Westandnakedinstarkcontrasttooneanother,Whiteskin,blackskinamidstothernakedskinbrown,yellow.

Wemovedeliberately,Mindful.Rightleg,Leftleg,Rightarm,Leftarm,Pullingthelacestightly,Wedrawouttheactofdressinginnewclothes,Havingnoideawhatwillcomeafter.

People just don`t know...Michael Shane Hale


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Manyyearsago,JudgeHenryFriendly,awisejurist,posedthequestion:Isinnocenceirrelevant?AquestionequallyrelevantinAmerica’sjudicialsystemtoday.EverymonthIreadaboutsomeonewhohasspentmanyyearsinprisonforacrimehe/shedidnotcommit.WrongfulconvictionsofActuallyInnocentmenandwomenshouldnotbethenorminamoderndaysociety.In2009,theNewYorkStateBarAssociationstudied53caseswheremen/womenwerewrongfullyconvicted,andspentmanyhardyearsinprisononlytobevindicatedlater.Thetaskforceidentifiedseveralfactorsthatoccurredineachcaseasthecauseofthewrongfulconviction.Amongstthemwere(i)misidentificationoftheaccused;(ii)generalerrorsbyagovernmentactor;towit:prosecutors,policeinvestigatorsorthepresidingjustice;and(iii)errorsinthehandlingorpreservationofkeyforensicevidence.Thetaskforcehighlightedspecificcauseslinkedtothewrongfulconvictionstowit:(a)identificationprocedures;(b)governmentpractices;(c)falseconfessions;(d)mishandlingofforensicevidence;(e)unreliablejailhouseinformants;and(f)defensepractices.

Asystemthatarrest,convictandimprisonitscitizensdespiteproofofinnocencecommitstyrannyuponitspeople.Whatkindofsocietyarewe(America),whenweallowinnocentmen/womentobethrowninprison,aswegoonlikenothingwronghashappened?Arewesoconditionedwithtyrannicalbehaviourbyourgovernment,thatthecouragetospeakouthasbeenlost?InAmericanhistoryithasalwaysbeentheyoungmenandwomenfromcollegecampusesandinstitutionsofhigherlearningthathavebeenthevoiceofthepeople.Wherearetheytoday?PerhapsapageshouldbetakenfromtheTunisianpeopleormaybetheEgyptians,riseupandspeakfortheDerrickHamilton’sandtheShabkkaShakur’s–twomeninNewYorkStatePrisondespiteoverwhelmingevidenceoftheirinnocence.

In1215,boldEnglishbaronsbrandishedfirearmsagainstKingJohnandforcedhimatgunpointtosigntheMagnaCarta.ThisdocumentgaveallthecitizensofEnglandbasichumanrights,andprovidedthefoundingfathersinAmericaaguidetobasetheAmericanConstitutionupon.

Today,acalltojusticefromtheWrongfullyConvictedacrossthisnation,totheboldAmericancitizensisannounced.Foramovementthatprotectsthelibertyofinnocentmenandwomen.OrisJudgeFriendly’squestion:IsInnocenceIrrelevantnowanormalrealityinour21stcentury?

Is Innocence Irrelevant?Danny Rincon


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Dustblewacrossthewindshield,scratchingathousandunseenfissuresintotheglass,tohismindeachgrainwasanemberburninggrayasitleftitsmarkandthenflittingawayinthelengthofaheartbeat;thelengthofforever.

Thebarrendesertlandscapeseemedtoreflecttheabyssofhissoul,justasthelowrumbleofthunderthatrolledacrossthepredawnskyseemedtoreflectthegrowlofhisengine.

Hegrippedthewheelwithclaw-likehands,knuckleswhite,hisshouldersslumpedforward,hiseyesnarrowed.Behindhimthehorizonbecameathingoldlinepushingagainstthegloomofthenight.Hisfootpresseddownupontheaccelerator.

Somewhereonthatemptyhighway,abrickwallwaited.

Theworldwasablur.Themilesflewbyhimandstillhewentnowhere,anunwillingcaptivebetweenyesterdayandtomorrow.Hebarelynoticedanymore,whocouldreadtheclockfacewithonehandmissingandtheotherbrokenbeyondrepair?Everythingcountedinseconds,themeasuresofagonyandecstasy.

Thethundersoundedclosernow.Nothinghadeverseemedsofaraway.

Ashiscarcontinuedtostreakthroughthenight,aforkofblue-whitelightningdancedacrosstheskybeforelancingdowntostrikethegroundbarelyafootfromthehighway.Hedidn’tacknowledgeit;itwasasadreamtohimandhealreadyknewwhatitfeltliketobaskwithinthewarmthofadream.It’sglorious,andfleeting,andultimatelyit’spainfulasitburnsyouawaytoash.Thenthereisonlythecold,thecoldandtheecho.Butifechoesweresupposedtofadeaway,howdidanechobecomeavoice?Howdidamindbecomeacemetery?

Anotherpealofthunderbrokeacrosstheheavens,butstillitdidn’train.Nooneeverrememberedtherain,theghostsofthepastbecameanendlesssuccessionofsunnydays,butaskyisneversoblueaswhenitcontainsafewclouds.Beautyisfoundbetweenthecontrastsandimperfections.

Hiseyesglanceddownatthefuelgauge.Hecouldn’tkeepthisupforever,thetankwasalmostempty.Ithadbeenthatwayfordays.

Behindhimthesun’sbrilliantcrownbrokeoverthehorizonline.Hedidn’tseeit,beforehimthedarknessgrewmoreprofound,hecouldn’tlookaway…

V-8 EulogyLucas Whaley


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Whatislifewithouttheonesyoulove,theoneswhomyousworntoprotectandcomfort,whoseheartsyoutorn.

Nowinthemidstofeverythingyourealizethatthosesameheartsyou’vetorn,wasittheliesofalifeIsecretlyheld,orwasitthefactthatourfamilieswishesprevailed.

IknowthatIwastobeyourall,togetherthroughallstormsweweretoprovethenaysayerswrong.Somewhereinbetweenourpassionsthingswentterriblywrong.Thepressuretobewhattheywantedwastoostrong.

Itweakenedmymanhoodlikeanoperasingerforgettinghissong,thekeysoflifewereallofbeat,Ijustcouldnolongerperform.

SoIfoundmytuneinthearmsofanamelesssoul,thesweat,thesounds,flashinglights,themoons.Thepulling,theturning,thetuningI’vefoundtherightchord.

Theemptinessinmysoul,thatgapingholewasfilledwithheressence,herall.Andforthatmomentmyconfusionfoundpeaceandcalm.

Canyoublamemeforwantingtofeelwholeagain?WhataboutmeiswhatIwouldalwaysshoutwithin.

Ihadtofeelcomplete,soinsearchofmymanhoodIfoundsolaceinotherswhoseheartsweretouchedlikeme.

One,Two,Three,shouldIgoon?HowcanIloveforanhourthanmoveon?Ihadtorationmylovebecauseyou’vedamnneartookitall.

TheFifthwomangavemeherall,lovedme,trustedme,heldme,gavememoistenwarmth,unlockedhertreasuresformetoenjoy.Butlikeawomanwhowasabusedyouleftmewiththosescars,Iwasscorned.

ConfessionsJermaine West


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TheSixth,Seventh,andEighthwasallablur,namesoffaces.

Scratchesonmyback,moremoansandpleasfordon’tstop,bedsmoving,tearsofjoy,neighbourscomplainingonmydoortheywouldknock.

Myhonestyhasyettodeplete…

Ninth,Tenth,Eleventh.Thewalksinthepark.Thebathroomatthejob,thecountlessnamesandfaces.I’vetriedtorememberthemall.MyhonestyhasnolimitsIhavetotellitall.

Therumorsofmysecretsandourjustassecreterendez-vous,likeahomingpigeoncomeflingingbacktoyou.Thepregnancyandthenthebirthofabeautifulchild.

Twelfth,Thirteenth,Fourteenth…Isearchedeveryinchofthembutcouldnotfindme.

DidIhurtyouintheprocessoftryingtohealmypride?Fifteen,Sixteen,Seventeen….I’minaparkfilledwithalongride.Candles,lotions,mynameechoingoffthewalls.

OverthemusicJermaine!Jermaine!Jermaine!Mypriderepaireditself.Ionceagainremained.Moreknocksonmydoor,theirsnodoubtthattheneighboursknowmyname.

I’vechosentopreservemyselfoveryou,youstrippedmeofeverythingIhadtorecoup.

Ihadsilverwithyou;nowIfoundgoldineighteen,platinuminnineteen.Iadmitallthistoyou.Foryoutoseewhatmysoulwentthroughduetoyou.

Alltherumorsweretrue,howdoIsayinRussian“Inevermeanttohurtyou.”Itwasn’tyourfaultyoujustcouldn’tcompleteme.


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Black WhiteBrown TanPink YellowWomenorManBleedOneColorRed SubconsciousBigotriesrule.InsteadofamasterRace.dichotomiesdejour….Whatafarce!AnUtterDisgrace!Brothers&SistersofonlyoneRacehuman…mortals“Lovethyneighbour”LoveoneAnother;Doesn’tanyoneRememberthePepsiColaCommercial?VeritableLovepisocle

LovepisodeE. Paris Whitfield

Itisnevertoolate…ChooseLove!It’smuchgreaterthanhate.


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“Ohshit,”Jansaidtoherselfasshewokeup. “Shit,shit,shit!”shesaid,climbingoutofbed.“HowcouldIhaveforgottentosetthedamnalarm.”Janrantothephoneanddialledthenumbertothesalon.“Hello,thisisJanWozelwick.Ihadanappointmentfor9:00am.I’mrunningalittlelate.Istherestillanopening?”Janasked.“Oh,thankGod!I’llbetherein15minutes.Okay.Seeyouinafew,”Jansaidgratefully.Sherantothebathroom,brushedherteethandwashedherfacequickly.Assheranbacktoherbedroom,shestubbedhertoeonthedoorway.“Ouch,damnit!”shehobbledtohercloset,grabbedapairofjeansandabuttoned-downpinkshirt,andthrewapairofsocksandherrunningshoeson.Onthewayout,shesnatchedherpurseupofftheend-table. Unbeknownsttoher,shewasbeingscrutinizedbyangelsanddemonsalike.“Sowhat’ssospecialabouther?”AzrealsaidtoMisery.“Bepatient,youngone,you’llseeinafewminutes.”Herepliedcoolly,withasinistersmilethatexposedhisrazorsharpteeth.Theybothwerewatchingfromarealmthatcouldnotbedetectedbyhumaneyes.Yet,astheywatchedJanmakeherwaydownMainStreet,Miseryglancedupintotheskyandsneeredasanaudiblehissescapedhislips.Therehesawthecloudslinedwiththousandsofangels,allshining,orratherradiating,withwhatseemedliketheenergyofthesun.Azrealheardhisdemonicmentor’shissandlookedtowhathewasgazingat.“Istilldon’tgetit,whyaretheyhere?Theyhardlyevershowuponearth.What’ssospecialaboutthisday?”Azrealsaid.“Okay,youseethatlittleblackboywalkingdownthestreet?”asMiserypointedwithhisvulture-liketalon.“Whichone?”Azrealsaid,lookingaround.“Rightthere,withthebrownshortsandwhitet-shirton”saidMisery.“Ohyeah,rightthere,”AzrealsaidpointingtothelittleboywalkingontheoppositesideofthestreetofJan.“Ifthatladygoesontogetherhairdoneanddon’tinterfere,thenthatlittleboywillgrowuptobeamilitant,revolutionist,arightwingextremist,whowilleventuallyleadagroupofhisfollowersintocausingthethirdandmostdisasterWorldWar!”Azreallookedawestruck.“Areyouserious?”hesaid.“Whenhaveyoueverknownmetoplay?”askedMisery.Justthen,asifoncue,therewassuchaloudanheavenlysound,sobeautifulitwasutterlyindescribable.MiseryandAzrealbothlookedup,andwhattheysawleftthemspeechless.Alloftheangelsweresingingsynchronized.Thesoundwasdeafeningastheyparted.AzrealandMiserysawsuchablindinglight,radiatingfromafigurethatapproachedthroughthecolumnsthattheangelsmadeoneachside.Azrealasked,“WhointheHadesisthat?”“ThatisMichael,”Miserysaidwithdistain. AsMichaelapproached,theswordthatwasinhishandwasalightwithflames.“MichaelisHisnumberone,”Miserysaid,“Heisthefinestofalltheangels.Hehasneversufferedadefeat!”AzreallookeduptoMisery,eyeswidewithastonishment.Miserycontinued,“Ishouldhavesuspectedhewouldbehere.Nevertheless,Heisaspowerlessasweareinthissituation.Heisonlyhereforshow.”AzreallookedbackatJanasshewasmakingherwayatahurriedpacedownthestreettoherhairappointment,mutteringsomethingbeneathherbreath.“Besilent.Littleone,itisabouttohappen,ornot!”Miseryexclaimed. Michaelliftedhishandandassuddenlyasthebeautifulsingingbegan,itceased.Thesilencewasdeafening. AllthedemonsthatweretherewithMisery,thehoardsandhoardsofthem,wereallsilentandstill,alongwiththeangels. Janwaswalkingwithaslightawkwardstepbecausehertoewasstillthrobbingfromstubbingitonthedoorway.Damnit,IhopeIain’tbreakit,”shesaidtoherself.Shewaslookingatherfootwhen

The Day Jan Wozelwick Saved the Planet Earth by Letting Her Hair GrowMichael S. Boyd

sheaccidentallybumpedintosomeoneandlosthergriponherpurse,spillingeverythingonthesidewalk.“Watchwhereyou’regoing,lady,”themansaidashekeptonwalking.“Sorry,”Jansaid,asshebegantopickupherpurse’scontents.Aftergatheringherbelongingsandstuffingthembackintoherpurse,shehappenedtoglanceupandseeaderelictstaggeringpastavendorthatsoldelaboratelydecoratedcakes.Seeingthatthevendor’sbackwasturned,thederelictswipedsomefrostingoffthecakeandstuffedhisfingersinhismouth.Jangrimacedasshesawthis.Asthederelictstaggeredaway,shesawthisyoungblackboywalkingfromtheotherdirection,passingthederelict,justasthevendorstoodupandsawwhathadhappenedtohiscake.Then,lookingattheboywhowasjustpassingby,Janknewinherheartwhatwasgoingthroughthevendor’smindashisfeaturesdarkened.Thenshethoughtabouthowlateshealreadywastoherappointment.

“Hey,youboy,”thevendorsaid,astheboywaspassingby.“Whome?”saidtheboy.“Yeah,comehere,”saidthevendor.Theboysawthelookonhisface,andknewnothinggoodcouldcomefromstopping.Hewasabouttoboltwhenthevendorgrabbedhisarm.“Isawyouboy,youruinedmycake!”thevendorsaid,ashewaswrenchingaroundtheyoungboy.Jansawallthisfromacrossthestreet,andshewasstuck,indecisive.Sheknewshecouldhelptheyoungboy,yetsheknewshehadtogetherhairdone.Ifshedidn’tgetitdonenow,she’dnotonlyhavetowaitforweekstogetanotherappointment,butshe’dlooklikehellforherdatetonight.

That’swhenthehoardsofdemonsbeganscreaming.“Getyourstupidhairdone!”“Yourlookbadenoughalready”anotherdemonshouted.“Hurryup,lady,you’relatealready!”Allthedemonsurgedhertogoon.Theangelsurgedhertostayandhelp.

Thevendoryelledattheboy,“Doyouknowhowmuchyoucostme?”Theboysaid,“ButIdidn’tdoanything,”astearsstartedtoflowfromhiseyes.

Janmadeherdecision.Asshewascrossingthestreet,shesawinhorror,asthevendorpickeduptheruinedcakeinhisotherhandandsmasheditintheboy’sface.Theboyquitstruggling,asastrangesenseofcalmseemedtoovercomehim.Janranacrossthestreetnow.Shewentuptothevendor,withangerinhervoice.“Unhandthatboynow!”“Ibegyourpardon,”saidthevendor,“Heruinedmycake!”“Nohedidn’t.Isawthatderelictovertheredoit!”asshepointeddownthestreet.Thevendorlookedandsawthederelictstillstumblingalonglickinghisfingersclean.Thevendorlookedconfused.“But,I…I…,”hetrailedoff.“You,nothing,”Jansaidwithauthority,“Lookwhatyou’vedonetothispoorboy,hisclothesareruined,he’samess.Whatarehisparentsgoingtosay?”Thevendorlookeddownattheboy.Heknewhehaddonewrong.Thevendorsaid,“Look,kid,Iamreallysorry.Iwasmistaken.Ishouldn’thavedonethat.Here,takethiscaketoyourmom,andtakethismoneytoo.”Asthevendorhandedhima20dollarbill,Janjuststoodtherewatching.TheboyacceptedthemoneyandlookedatJan.Shenoddedherhead,asifheneededtobereaffirmed,thatitwasokay.“TellyourparentstocomedownhereandI’dbehappytoexplaineverything.Okay,kid?”thevendorsaid.

Theboy,nowamanrecountingthisstoryofhowthisoneactofkindnessbythiswomanthatheneverevengothernameof,hadhelpedhimmakethedecisionsthatledhimtothispointinhislife,ashemadehisinauguraladdressasthefirstblackPresidentoftheUnitedStatesofAmerica.20


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21

As so often in life, perspective can change everything. Life was everywhere around me, as was hope, if I know how to see it. Those trees were not dead, just hiding what is vulnerable to the harmful frost. Only their leaves die in the fall as they draw life within until the conditions are right for regrowth – to bloom! How similar are we to those trees, those of us who’ve been hurt?

From A Reliquary for Ardor, by Joshua J. Keppen

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