Elizabeth wrote these
poems about her experience attending her friend's execution. Her friend,
Jay Wesley Neil, was murdered by the state of Oklahoma on December 12,
2002.
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
image to make the homefolks proud.
Daddy’d have a hissy fit, but here i am
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
December dark and strange never much light in hell-unit
they don't get much company in the evenings
unless they have one of these overtures to a wake
these much discussed but seldom seen state
assisted homicides yes his death certificate
cause box will read HOMICIDE
(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)
all been together we witnesses of the
condemned since before four o'clock sitting
at another kinder gentler jail down the road
getting cokes and candy from the warden our
host for the pre-prelude social hour
two hours long, who’s counting?
somewhere in this same jail
a much bigger room for the victims'
witnesses 27 of them which explains the big
old bus outside waiting to take them to the big show
(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)
5:30. they load us into a van with curtains
heavy tint on the windows, drove us through
the freezing Oklahoma wind, rain to the Main Event
it's important that no one sees us
that we never see the victims' witnesses
justice's wheels on extra-slow grind on this one
near twenty years since the Lawton Massacre
must be two or three generations of witnesses
for the victims it was an awful crime I know because
he described it to me choking on a million tears none
would make him feel better but he's tried
to practice Bodhisattva way. do the best work he could in this awful place.
with his gifts for writing
understanding law
five innocent men no longer
on the row sit somewhere in sadness at his loss
(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)
we’re here, icy rain pelts our faces then the doors swing open, whoosh, no creaking here, this is a state of the art
death house a monument to its kind.
the whole time i'm taking off my shoes
letting guards peer in them
some attorney keeps asking if I need help
hell yes I need help, I need.
(standing barefoot in the death house vestibule)
I need to know why these folks have sent out
written invites to come watch them kill this boy
this boy who has been my friend
for five of the 19 years he spent here
contemplating his crime and consequences
seen me through the loss of my husband
comforted him in his hours of pain longing to be healthy again
yes I need help but not with my damned shoes
now they take us into a narrow gated
passage that holds yet another gate
the second gate can't open until the first gate closes
for breathless seconds we are cows
in a slaughterhouse holding pen
eerie darkness sense of doom
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
my heart jumps when the gate opens
we go into a brightly lit room
vending machines folks take
candy and pop serious here
now the lawyer stands at the head of the table
starts telling us what we're gonna see
how my friend will get to say his piece
then the preacher will say his then…
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
there will be a grinding sound
that signals the lethal drugs
starting their journey to his veins
pretty soon well I can't explain it
but you'll know it's over for him the lawyer says
my mind races back to this morning
I last saw my spirit child
he said "mom I know it's hard for you
but I need you there to
tell me when it's time to go
"time to go? hellfire
how about right now let's miss the big show
let's get on outta here
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
the ritual demands to be played out I try hard
to imagine how I'll know when it's time for him
to go we've established a signal so he'll know
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
so he'll know when I think it's time I hope God
that somehow I'm gonna magically know the
right moment although any such wisdom escapes
me now I can't even swallow much less
play my role of spiritual guide guru then they
come say it's time to go to the chamber such
a word chamber--chambers should have tapestries and sconces
not Venetian blinds, fluorescent lights, medical fixtures
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
the row of folks in the back are journalists
Already seated when we arrive
not allowed to talk to us
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
no one is allowed to talk at all
huge Native American guards
arms folded like giant disapproving statues
make it clear: I'm gonna be quiet no matter what
pisses me off I might need to scream
try to slough it off my boy needs me to tell him
when it's time to go great Buddha’s tears how to know?
standing barefoot in the death house vestibule
there’ll be a sound
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
Can you hear it?
looks so peaceful
clean white sheets
cover the ugly unmentionable stuff,
needles, restraints, pale shaking limbs
crisp blue printed hospital gown
hair combed
skin soft and clear
he seems so young
and is
tied down tight under that
innocent drape of cotton
special gurney
lots of straps
it all looks serene
medical at worst
like looking through
blinds into an intensive care room
care will not be what’s intensive
this night
can you hear it?
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
we’re in our seats
dare not move
guards all around, stoic
can’t see victims’ families
but they’re there
busload of ‘em
a big crime, he did
papers called it a massacre
he starts to talk…
to them first
the unseen but heavily present
harmed ones seeking closure
that concept holds all this in place
starts to tell the story
told many other times
more eloquently in conversations
over 19-plus years
how hovering near bank’s ceiling
he watched unrecognizable
inconceivable self
stab four, shoot two
one fatally, one not
could do nothing to stop
Dark Man, dark man did it
but no one no one believes that
don’t want to believe
much less go where
Dark Man lives…
can you hear it?
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
tonight he doesn’t mention Dark Man
tells the families with pleading heart
he’s so sorry, will never in this life
or soon the next understand
don’t know how it happened
it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me
his voice breaks
have they started? I feel dizzy
warden’s tiny sad smile
teasing corners of his mouth
shakes his head no not yet
warden, chaplain, doctor
lady with big hair big book
still don’t know who she was
can you hear it?
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
he turns to us
those come to be his friends
at this final time
i love you mom
everyone looks around
knows his mom isn’t there
who, where?
I know it’s me
there when he needed
no one else had a minute
so I was mom I was mom
with me
priest
psychiatrist
uncle
that’s it
crowd’s pretty small
by the time he reaches this place
chamber so-called
civilized now modern
even the time is changed
no more midnight mystery
times of execution in Oklahoma
6 p.m.
then off to dinner
It’s business here
Very serious business
can you hear it?
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
i promised i would tell him
when it’s time to go
i still don’t know
but he believes and so
must I have faith
as he puts forth so lovingly
these last hard weeks and months
i hear it
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
I ask this favor
priest takes my hand
holds it tight
does he need me?
do I need him?
does it matter?
energy steps up to hyperphase
spirit son looks at me
waiting for the signal to go
i feel faint
inadequate to any task
but my right hand rises
in a fist
to my heart
signal we preplanned
his eyelids flutter
oh so briefly
hand twitches
gasp rattles across the mic
into the room (was there pain?)
there are those who hope so
head falls back
he’s gone
can you hear it?
whirring, grinding sort of sound
when the drug pumps start…
no. done.
in seconds
skin turns
greenish gold
claylike
body seems to fall away
fall away
back to the vestibule
at last near freedom
staff gathered there in
some macabre
reception line
still no one speaks
what’s he doin’ now?
using my hand and lips
to blow a kiss
to his favorite supervisor
she blanches
yes, he promised her this would happen
she believes…
outside again
in the cold wet night
wind gusting all around
his guides have come
he whooshes
from my heart
to their arms
i lift my face
magically unharmed
by ice, rain, wind
quietly, gratefully
rejoice!
