The quality of mercy
By Brandon Astor Jones
Moments ago, as Superior Court Judge Ken Nix — in his own good ol' boy way — sang the words, "... and may God have mercy upon your soul", it probably never occurred to his toe-the-line Republican sensibilities that he could have had mercy upon my soul.
Afterwards, my thoughts and concerns turned to those who were behind me and others who love me, and life. I hurt for them and feel their pain. To them I give this notice of urgency, love and life's song in the face of death. They must sing.
Quickly now!
Sing me
For we are music
Precariously abiding
On the cleft
Of death
Quickly now ...
The melody
Of life
Is fading
Waste me not,
Too little left
Quickly now!
Below is the second poem I have written for my very first great-granddaughter. I have never met her in person because travel costs are expensive and Saint Paul, Minnesota, is a long way from Georgia. The first poem was written in Green Left Weekly in honour of her birth as an introduction to my first "Looking out" column nearly five years ago. Yes, how time does fly.
In the bowels of Georgia's death row, I find that the madness of state-sanctioned death is my constant cell mate. Very often, in my endless attempts to keep the insanity at bay, I imagine myself in poetic conversation with loved ones. Those readers who know me well will know that I am not much of a poet.
My poetry is a sham of sorts. For the most part, I write down what I say so that my fellow prisoners — who regularly walk by and look into this cell — will not think I have succumbed to more than 18 years of this special kind of madness when they see and hear me talking to these three walls.
Without Jasmine
"Will I ever get old and smell different like you?"
"Well, Little Miss Questions, I think there is a very good chance of that."
"'Til then, great-grandfather, what can I do?"
"You can just keep on being beautiful, like a joyful fragrance in a youthful sack."
"Do you think I look special in your old hat?"
"Baby girl I have no fear because everything about you is very special, my dear.
"Even on the day you were born I was bubbling over, full of happy tears."
"Were you sad? ... did I make you cry?"
"At the hospital, I am told, you were a loud and wonderful surprise."
"But isn't that where they say people rise up and quietly die?"
"True, sometimes, but that is also where angels, like you, from the sky fall."
"Oh, great-grandfather, angels have wings; you know that I can't fly."
"You sure could kick and scream, to be so small."
"Are you really glad that I came — did I pass the great-granddaughter test?"
"Yes, Little Miss Questions, in this old world there would be an odour of sadness
without Jasmine."
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G2-57, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA. Australians Against Executions are raising funds for legal expenses involved in Brandon's appeal against his sentence. Cheques can be made payable to "Brandon Astor Jones Defence Fund" and sent to Australians Against Executions, PO Box 640, Milson's Point NSW 2061.]