SECTION FIFTEEN

POETRY PAGE ONE

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COLUMN NINETY-SIX, SEPTEMBER 1, 2003

(Copyright © 2003 The Blacklisted Journalist)



(Photo by Irina Adam)

STANDING BAREFOOT IN THE DEATH HOUSE VESTIBULE

I.

standing barefoot in the death house vestibule

image to make the homefolks proud. Daddy'd

have a hissy fit, but here i am

standing barefoot in the death house vestibule

December dark and strange never much light in hell-unit

they don't get much company in the evenings

unless they have one of these overtures to a wake

these much discussed but seldom seen state

assisted homicides yes his death certificate

cause box will read HOMICIDE

(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

all been together we witnesses of the

condemned since before four o'clock sitting

at another kinder gentler jail down the road

getting cokes and candy from the warden our

host for the pre-prelude social hour

two hours long, who's counting?

somewhere in this same jail

a much bigger room for the victims'

witnesses 27 of them which explains the big

old bus outside waiting to take them to the big show



(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

5:30. they load us into a van with curtains

heavy tint on the windows, drove us through

the freezing Oklahoma wind, rain to the Main Event

it's important that no one sees us

that we never see the victims' witnesses

justice's wheels on extra-slow grind on this one

near twenty years since the Lawton Massacre

must be two or three generations of witnesses

for the victims it was an awful crime I know because

he described it to me choking on a million tears none

would make him feel better but he's tried

to practice Bodhisattva way. do the best work

he could in this awful place. with his gifts for writing

and understanding five innocent men are no longer

on the row



(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

we're here, icy rain pelts our faces then the doors



swing open, whoosh, no creaking here, this is a state of the art

death house a model to its kind.

the whole time i'm taking off my shoes letting

the guards peer in them some attorney keeps

asking if I need help hell yes I need help I need

(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

I need to know why these folks have sent out

written invites to come watch them kill this boy

this boy who has been my friend for five of the

19 years he spent here contemplating his crime and consequences

seen me through the loss of my husband

comforted him in his hours of pain longing to be healthy again

yes I need help but not with my damned shoes

now they take us into a narrow gated

passage that holds yet another gate the second

gate can't open until the first gate closes so for breathless

seconds we are cows in a slaughterhouse holding pen

eerie darkness sense of doom



(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

my heart jumps then the gate opens we go into

a brightly lit room vending machines folks take

candy and pop serious here now the lawyer stands

at the head of the table starts telling us what

we're gonna see how my friend will get to say

his piece then the preacher will say his then

standing barefoot in the death house vestibule

there will be a grinding sound that signals the

lethal drugs starting their journey to his veins

pretty soon well I can't explain it but you'll know

it's over for him the lawyer says my mind races this

morning I last saw my spirit child he said "mom

I know it's hard for you but I need you there to

tell me when it's time to go" time to go? hellfire

how about right now let's miss the big show

let's get on outta here



(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

the ritual demands to be played out I try hard

to imagine how I'll know when it's time for him

to go we've established a signal so he'll know

standing barefoot in the death house vestibule

so he'll know when I think it's time I pray God

that somehow I'm gonna magically know the

right moment although any such wisdom escapes

me now I can't even swallow much less

play my role of spiritual guide guru then they

come say it's time to go to the chamber such

a word chamber chambers should have tapestries and sconces

not Venetian blinds, fluorescent lights, medical fixtures



(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

the row of folks in the back are journalists

already seated when we arrive not allowed to talk to us

no one is allowed to talk at all huge native American guards

arms folded like giant disapproving statues make it clear

I'm gonna be quiet no matter what --pisses me off

I might need to scream try to slough it off

my boy needs me to tell him when

it's time to go great Buddha's tears how to know?

(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)

II.

there'll be a sound

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

looks so peaceful

clean white sheets

cover the ugly stuff, needles, restraints

crisp blue printed hospital gown

hair combed

skin soft and clear

he seems so young

and is

tied down tight under that

innocent drape of cotton

special gurney

lots of straps

it all looks serene

medical at worst

like looking through

blinds into an intensive care room

care will not be what's intensive

this night

can you hear it?

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?



we're in our seats

dare not move

guards all around

can't see victims? families

but they're there

busload of "em

a big crime, his

papers called it a massacre

he starts to talk?

to them first

the unseen but heavily present

harmed ones seeking closure

starts to tell the story

told many other times

more eloquently in conversations

over 19-plus years

how hovering near bank's ceiling

he watched unrecognizable

inconceivable self

stab four, shoot two

one fatally, one not

could do nothing to stop

Dark Man, dark man did it

but no one no one believes that

don't want to believe

much less go where

Dark Man lives?

can you hear it?

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

tonight he doesn't mention

Dark Man

tells the families

with pleading heart

he's so sorry, will never in this life

or soon the next

understand

don't know how it happened

it wasn't me, it wasn't me

his voice breaks

have they started? I feel dizzy

warden

tiny sad smile

teasing corners of his mouth

shakes his head no not yet

warden, chaplain, doctor

lady with big hair big book

still don't know who she was

can you hear it?

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

he turns to us

those come to be his friends

at this final time

i love you mom

everyone looks around

knows his mom isn't there

who, where?

I know it's me

there when he needed

no one else had a minute

so I was mom I was mom

with me

priest

psychiatrist

uncle

that's it

crowd's pretty small

by the time he reaches this place

chamber so-called

civilized now modern

even the time is changed

no more midnight mystery

times of execution in Oklahoma

6 p.m.

then off to dinner

It's business here

Very serious business

can you hear it?

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

i promised i would tell him

when it's time to go

i still don't know

but he believes and so

must I have faith

as he puts forth so lovingly

these last hard weeks and months

i hear it

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

I ask this favor

priest takes my hand

holds it tight

does he need me?

do I need him?

does it matter?

energy steps up to hyperphase

spirit son looks at me

waiting for the signal to go

i feel faint

inadequate to any task

but my right hand rises

in a fist

to my heart

signal we preplanned

his eyelids flutter

oh so briefly

hand twitches

gasp rattles across the mic

into the room (was there pain?)

there are those who hope so

head falls back

he's gone

can you hear it?

whirring, grinding sort of sound

when the drug pumps start?

no.

in seconds

skin turns

greenish gold

claylike

body seems to just fall away

fall away

caves in on itself

eyes, mouth open

and i feel him in my chest!

i/he wants to laugh

to run from the room

skip joyfully

through this place

of unwelcome death

now this is out-of-body at its best

he says

hush, I tell him silently

i'll walk you out

but we can't run

we can't laugh

he calms a little

still wants to play

freedom is so sweet

blinds clap shut

guards take us out

back through visiting

through reception

all the way

he begs to laugh, run, leap into the air

no wish from me

to see the ugly side

of any of these guards

so I keep shushing him

almost amused myself by now

back to the vestibule

at last near freedom

staff gathered there in

some macabre

reception line

still no one speaks

what's he doin? now?

oh no, he's using my hand and lips

to blow a kiss

to his favorite supervisor

she blanches

yes, he promised her this would happen

she believes?

outside again

in the cold wet night

wind gusting all around

flash of sword blade

red coat

white gown

purple skirt

the guides have come

he whooshes

from my heart

to their arms

i lift my face

unharmed by

ice, rain, wind

throw my arms into the air

rejoice!

Copyright - 2003 Elizabeth Jasper ##

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