Life Lines

Life Lines

By Life Lines CollectiveSociety & CultureArts
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Life Lines episodes

  • Highrise, part one

    While most kids my age were thinking about prom or driver’s ed., I was getting an altogether different education as a ward of the state.

    Part one of a two-part story. Listen to part two here.

    7 min
  • They took my baby away

    I remember holding you in my arms

    You made cooing sounds
    And I wanted to know exactly what each one meant

    Written in response to The Underground Railroad (public library) by Colson Whitehead.

    2 min
  • #31 They took my baby away

    I remember holding you in my arms

    You made cooing sounds
    And I wanted to know exactly what each one meant

    Written in response to The Underground Railroad (public library) by Colson Whitehead.

    2 min
  • Disquieted

    Dad had been taken captive in Korea by an army of enemy voices in his head

    ~

    Warning: this piece includes descriptions of domestic violence and generational trauma.

    3 min
  • #30 Disquieted

    Dad had been taken captive in Korea by an army of enemy voices in his head

    ~

    Warning: this piece includes descriptions of domestic violence and generational trauma.

    3 min
  • Pantoum of the forgotten prisoner

    They punish mental illness as if it’s our sin

     

    for Michael Anthony Kerr (1960-2014)

    Nobody cares if you die in this hole.

    They put you here for a reason,
    devoid of warmth and sympathy, yet full of need
    a drop in the bucket, time to move on.

    After all, they put us here to suffer,

    banished to a closet where moths eat our existence
    a drop in the bucket in an unacknowledged history
    Hang them, shoot them, break them on the wheel.

    Only human beings are broken and banished with righteousness

    Punish the weak for the darkness in man’s heart
    Break them, bury them, hang morality by the gate.
    Meaningless platitudes cannot penetrate the depths of this hole.

    They punish mental illness as if it’s our sin,

    so I laughed, screamed in rage. They starved me.
    Because there is no mercy in the hole, I was full of need
    and they said, “He does it on purpose.”

    In my grief, I wept, screamed, and pined for my children

    for my two lost sons, full of need, they left me in my weakness.
    So I flooded the hole to bring them back.
    To the legion of lost sons, to the cohort of the damned:

    They would disappear our suffering if they could,

    bring them back so we could say,
    “Listen. Listen to our stories. Help us.”
    They could not disappear my loss.

    Instead, they turned off the water to spite me.

    I said, “Listen. Please help.”
    “Are you thirsty, Mr. Kerr?” So I tapped and banged.
    They brought handcuffs to the hole in spite of me.

    They chained me to the bunk.

    “Are you hungry, Mr. Kerr?” So I cursed and spat.
    “Listen. Please.” Chained, hungry, thirsty, full of need,
    nobody cared if I sat in my filth.

    “Please.” Nobody cared that I lay dying.

    Cloaked in filth, hidden from the world, my sons came,
    cold and bright, full of need, shining from beyond. I took their hands.
    Nobody cares if you die in this hole.

    3 min
  • #28 Pantoum of the forgotten prisoner

    They punish mental illness as if it’s our sin

     

    for Michael Anthony Kerr (1960-2014)

    Nobody cares if you die in this hole.

    They put you here for a reason,
    devoid of warmth and sympathy, yet full of need
    a drop in the bucket, time to move on.

    After all, they put us here to suffer,

    banished to a closet where moths eat our existence
    a drop in the bucket in an unacknowledged history
    Hang them, shoot them, break them on the wheel.

    Only human beings are broken and banished with righteousness

    Punish the weak for the darkness in man’s heart
    Break them, bury them, hang morality by the gate.
    Meaningless platitudes cannot penetrate the depths of this hole.

    They punish mental illness as if it’s our sin,

    so I laughed, screamed in rage. They starved me.
    Because there is no mercy in the hole, I was full of need
    and they said, “He does it on purpose.”

    In my grief, I wept, screamed, and pined for my children

    for my two lost sons, full of need, they left me in my weakness.
    So I flooded the hole to bring them back.
    To the legion of lost sons, to the cohort of the damned:

    They would disappear our suffering if they could,

    bring them back so we could say,
    “Listen. Listen to our stories. Help us.”
    They could not disappear my loss.

    Instead, they turned off the water to spite me.

    I said, “Listen. Please help.”
    “Are you thirsty, Mr. Kerr?” So I tapped and banged.
    They brought handcuffs to the hole in spite of me.

    They chained me to the bunk.

    “Are you hungry, Mr. Kerr?” So I cursed and spat.
    “Listen. Please.” Chained, hungry, thirsty, full of need,
    nobody cared if I sat in my filth.

    “Please.” Nobody cared that I lay dying.

    Cloaked in filth, hidden from the world, my sons came,
    cold and bright, full of need, shining from beyond. I took their hands.
    Nobody cares if you die in this hole.

    3 min

About Life Lines

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Life Lines is an audio journal of poetry, spoken word, and other creative writing by men on Death Row, USA. Contributors live on Death Rows in North Carolina and Tennessee.