Gwendolyn Brooks’s “To Prisoners” was published in To Disembark (Third World Press, 1981). We are currently in the midst of a global pandemic that is ravaging people and communities across the world. One particularly vulnerable group is incarcerated people. Some leaders are employing mass release for public health. While others are letting incarcerated people get sick and die.

“To The Prisoner” is encouragement for the incarcerated and an exhortation to those of us on the outside to pay attention and to fight alongside those who are inside for their freedom.

Here’s the action I am asking you to take: 1. Read “To Prisoners”. 2. Film yourself reading the poem. 3. Post your reading on social media using the hashtag #FreeThemAll4PublicHealth this week. 4. Tag the Governor in your state with your reading. We want them to release incarcerated people for their safety and for our community’s safety. 5. Invite others in your networks to do the same.

If you are interested in listening to people including those who are formerly incarcerated discuss the poem, you can do that here.

TO PRISONERS

I call for you cultivation of strength in the dark.
Dark gardening
in the vertigo cold.
In the hot paralysis.
Under the wolves and coyotes of particular silences.
Where it is dry.
Where it is dry.
I call for you
cultivation of victory Over
long blows that you want to give and blows you are going to get.

Over
what wants to crumble you down, to sicken
you. I call for you
cultivation of strength to heal and enhance
in the non-cheering dark,
in the many many mornings-after;
in the chalk and choke.

As the National Week of Action Against Incarcerating Youth continues, here’s a poem by Nicholas who was detained at the Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center. He wrote this piece as part of the Free Write Jail Arts and Literacy Program.

Mr. Mail Man
(by Adolfo Davis, from Thoughts of A Broken Child)

Mr. Mail Man, please don’t pass me by today.
I need to receive some love from the outside world.
I guess they went on with their lives.

I don’t know how many more pass-bys I can take from the mail man,
So please don’t pass me by today.

The last letter I got was one I sent myself,
Just to hear them say “Davis” you got mail.

Because hearing your name called for mail is a feeling of grace, love, peace, joy and happiness all in one.
Because you feel someone cares.

But, when your name isn’t called,
It’s like getting your heart broke for the first time.
You never want to feel that pain again,
But you still put yourself out there hoping you get mail.

So today Mr. Mail Man, Please don’t pass me by.

P.S. I was passed up once again

I am very happy to publish this poem by Ebony Delaney. Ebony is a woman who is currently incarcerated in a California men’s prison. Her poem came to me via a reader of this blog named Tyler who corresponds with Ebony. They share poetry, books, and short stories with each other. I am honored to share Ebony’s work here.

My friend Crista Noel wrote a few words about the first day of Dante Servin’s trial for killing Rekia Boyd. Crista co-founded Women’s All Points Bulletin, a local organization focused on police violence against women. She has been a steadfast supporter of Rekia’s family for years. I appreciate that she has given me permission to publish this.

Court Day 1
by Crista Noel

For reasons unknown the rain reminded me of my grandfathers funeral.

Or maybe not

Perhaps

His death,

being shot in the head by the security guard he hired to protect the bowling alley he managed, was the revelation

Perhaps

My grandmothers old wives tale was true

when it rains on the day of a funeral

the Angels are crying

I was driving to a funeral,

and the Universe was storming.

As with all trials there is confusion and worry. They told Martinez it may be postponed because the Judges house flooded, but he did not disappoint.

The News crews filmed the family and the advocates, surrounding Martinez, they spoke passionately as I watched through the window.

Inside Angela expressed her grief, her anger barely subsided,

she will never forgive

or forget.

Mothers pain

Her sister sat quietly, as we all did, in the Courtroom as Dante’s face turned beet red as the charges and the punishment became real

to him

in that moment
and time

Finally

Icka testified she was angry that her sister was shot in the head and Antonio was only shot in the hand.

“How is that fair” she cried

They all ran from Dante’s bullets

and she cried

Over Rekia’s body

They wouldn’t let her ride to the hospital with Rekia

and Rekia hated being alone

She cried

For a moment Dante was alone with Rekia, talking on his cellphone when the cops arrived

What was he saying
How did he feel

This was caught on tape

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