The Time

There are two things that can make a man cry
            Love and a jail cell.
It matters not how rough, tough, strong
            Or even weak you are.
No one knows the hell I am in
            And no one cares; hurt, cry, cry, hurt
 No one knows what or how I feel
            And no one gives a damn,
But I will be strong to the bitter end.
There are two kinds of freedom for me.
Freedom from the cell that hold me.
            And freedom from the cells and walls within me.
My days in this cell are growing short.

My days in this cell are growing short.
The hurt, the suffering, the loneliness,
            The hell I’ve been through is almost at an end.
Soon there will be no more bars in my way
            But yet there will be
‘Cause my mind will be scared through
Thick and thin.           

- Chico Ortiz 16

 

Loving A Convict

Loving a convict
Isn’t always gay,
Like everything else there’s a price to pay…
It’s mostly loving with nothing to hold
It’s being young yet feeling old,
It’s having him whisper his love to you…
It’s whispering back, “I love you too.”
Then comes a kiss and a promise to wait,
It’s knowing the board now holds your mans fate.
It’s reluctantly, painfully, letting him go
While you’re inside for needing him so.
It’s watching him leave, your eyes full of tears.
And even though he’s near but so far away
You keep loving him more, more each day.
Being in love with a convict leaves only your dreams,
Yes, being in love is not what it seems.
Days go by… no mail for a spell,
You wait for some word that all is well.
Once in a while you can’t stop the tears…
Weeks become months, months into years.
Time passes slowly, yet it’s done at last,
You barely realize that it’s so until it’s past.
Yes, being a convict bringing bitterness and tears,
Loneliness, sadness, desperate years.
He’s sad and he’s lonely from being away.
So love him and miss him and tell him so,
‘Cause he’s your convict, and that’s all you know.

- Lola Satistevan to Chico Ortiz 17

 

“Dónde Está Mi Papá”

Mamá, a dónde llevan a mi papa?
Y por qué lo golpearon tanto?
Mamá, por qué no estás llorando
como yo?

Mamá, me asustas más que los soldados
que vinieron la otra noche por papa.
Tus ojos se miraban brillosos,
como el machete de papa,
cuando rehusabas llorar por él.

Mamá, a dónde dijiste que llevaron a papá?
Mamá, por qué me miras así?

- David R. Marinez 18

 

More works of poetry and writings can be found at the personal websites of raúlrsalinas and Piri Thomas.  Both of these men have spent significant time in jail and have written bodies of work that reflect on their experiences as Latinos in jail.    

Piri Thomas

raúlrsalinas