Leslie Bull: poet, performance artist, filmmaker

p.o.w.

by Leslie Bull

dedicated to d mac and t mac, i love you so...

p.o.w.

p.o.w.
includes stops
at y.o.p.
gulag.
get your
young, sick
scared ass
in line
you're in the
big time now
youthful
offender
program
otherwise known as
kids
in adult prison.
don't play with us
boy
we got ya
located up here
in the
inaccessible regions
of our war
yes, we bring
our enemy here
to perform
our punishments.
yesterday you were
fifteen, sixteen
seventeen years old
today
you come of age
as non-citizen
non-adult
non-child
far from family
and friend
we got
a state issue
television
and a bottle
of pills
with your name on it
offender
hate and isolation
and a limit
to how many
books you can
have in your cell.
the youngest p.o.w.'s
are sent
to the most
violent facility
in the state
thirty-two plus stabbings
in a year
my son
carried a
six-inch shank.
i pray he never
had to use it.
my boys fell
at seventeen
and they
been tryin'
to get my
oldest son
ever since.
2009
is a long time
to wait
to watch
my babies
step through
our kitchen door
hungry and
smiling and
huggin' on
their mama.
a long time
to be under
siege,
to feel the
eyes of hate.
ten years
in prison
for a crime where
no one was
physically harmed
or killed.
i woke up
for real
the day they
terminated
my parental rights
with no discussion
no hearing
no notice
no feeling.
instead they
"declined" my
children into
adult court
and i became
just an
annoying voice
on the phone,
"keep calling
and we'll ship
your sons to
colorado"
the man on
the phone
told me,
the so-called
counselor.
my friend's son
got ninety-nine years
at sixteen
ninety-nine years
for being black.
my sons are
white
and talk about
segregation,
about walking
a fine line.
don't believe
the hate
but gain the
required acceptance.
don't associate
with the hardcore
factions
but don't alienate
them either
because being
cast out
from your
racial group
means
terrible danger
and stress.
my boys
walk lines
fight to be
allowed to
read and write
exercise
and eat
they are amazing
survivors
their poetry
haunting and
healing
our family
works hard to
support
our boys.
twenty-two dollars
per call
for fifteen minutes
is too much.
they separated
twin brothers
out of spite
so i drive
long hours,
visit two
prisons now.
struggle to
decipher
two sets of
rules that
shift and change
slippery
they run
out the mouths
of the enlisted
and drool through
my fingers
slick mess
on the floor.
they bugged
our table
in the
visiting room
and investigated
my relationship
to my husband
who was,
by necessity,
listed as "aunt"
on the visitor
application.
they recorded
our conversations
and busted us
for being queer
and trans.
took our boys
aside
and said they had
"reason to believe"
my husband
is not their
"real aunt"
and they
threatened
and intimidated
our sons
and forced
my husband
to be removed
from one boy's
visiting list
made us choose,
because only "real"
"blood" relatives
and their
"legal" spouses
can appear
on more than
one inmate's
approved
visitor list.
and having a
queer old
ex hooker
for a mother
is a liability
in prison
so i stay
in the closet
censor my letters
we speak in code
code of honor
code of loyalty
code of love.

l. bull 4/02

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