Okay. My name is Stacy Anderson. My number is 821983. I’ve been incarcerated for 12 years and I was inspired by writing my own poem. I always had a vivid imagination, so I decided to go to a writing class. Rob Haplin has helped me to learn how to explore my mind and writing skills. This is a poem about prison:
What’s the lurking in the hallway? Sitting in your room locked down for 23 hours or more. Hair is a helmet with moisture, dripping everywhere. Room from room, house to house, door to door, what’s lurking in the hallway?
Everyone’s wearing masks, looking at intruders, bank robbers and killers, never knowing who is who. Always upset. Washing your hands constantly. Your skin is peeling from excessive diluted water and soap. Opening the door is like opening up the gates to Hell. You’re suffocating, can’t breathe. What’s lurking in the hallway? Questioning yourself. Is it my turn to die? Feeling defeated. Emotional broke down. They believe it’s not healthy. This infectious disease is lurking in the air. Devouring anyone that it can.
Finding year after year, nothing has changed. Sense of longing, exchanged thunderstorms, clouds gathered upon us watching your door open only to find out there’s no one there. Heathens knocking periodically. What’s lurking in the hallway? Just to breathe fresh air is a must. Days are slowly getting back to normal. Still wondering, still baffled. Is it safe? What’s lurking in the hallways?
(Sound of a cell door closing). These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
