Sometimes I cannot find the right words to convey the deep emotions I have reading their words...
....I only hope one is touched as deeply
Prison Letter
M.A. Jones
You ask what it's like in here but there are no words for it.
I answer difficult, painful, that men die hearing their own voices. That answer isn't right though I tell you now
that prison is a room
where a man waits with his nerves
drawn tight as barbed wire, an afternoon
that continues for months, that rises
around his legs like water
until the man is insane
and thinks the afternoon is a lake:
blue water, whitecaps, an island
where he lies under pale sunlight, one
red gardenia growing from his hand-
But that's nor right either. There are no
flowers in these cells, no water
and I hold nothing in my hands
but feare, what lives
in the absence of light, emptying
from my body to fill the large darkness
rising like water up my legs:
It rises and there are no words for it
though I look for them, and turn
on light and watch it
fall like an open yellow shirt
over black water, the light holding
against the dark for just
an instant: against what trembles
in my throat, a particular fear
a word I have no words for.
Arizona State Prison-Perryville
Buckeye, Arizona