Poems by Herby Ehinger
an inmate at the Eastern Correctional Institution
Napanoch, New York
Ode to My Cell
Four white stars on the ceiling
some naked girls on the wall
cardboard boxes packed with legal papers under my bed
books I read more than once and books I will never read
a locker full of food, just in case, but never locked
three pipes filled with steam in the winter:
a guaranteed nosebleed every morning
a window with view of another cellblock; sound effects included
Fifty-four square feet
A box full of photographs from the past
Years ahead of me
self-destructive thoughts mingled with hope
and a flashlight searching for a movement of my body every hour of each night
The singing of birds at 5:00 am.
The door is locked
Waiting for the sound of keys in the lock
A fan, still unemployed, its head handing low
plenty of postcard images from different worlds
a map of the world and one of Europe; I hardly every look at them anymore
An extra pillow case keeps me company during the night
you canÕt keep a secret from these walls
and cockroaches shall inherit the earth
silent screams of pleasure and pain
and prayers to an image of God I ceased to believe in years ago
And thoughts of her
mostly her
she appears like a goddess
on the bed, where I live, where I practice safe sex
like a teenager having discovered secret pleasures,
and always in fear of getting caught by his parents
a toilet bowl filled with dying sperm all trying to reach the sewer first
The rusty iron bars outside my window are so obvious;
sometimes I overlook them.
and there are days I canÕt wait for the door to be locked again.
April 1996
Things I DidnÕt Know About
Myself
Before I came to prison,
I didnÕt know how much other peopleÕs opinions meant to me,
DidnÕt know or want to know how I looked at myself
depended on how those same people judged my actions.
Back in the so-called free world it seemed so simple to say,
ŌI donÕt care what anybody thinks of me.
I just do what I want to do.Ķ
And I believed it, too.
Most people in here cant even admit that much to themselves.
I didnÕt know I have a habit of putting myself down when ever I get a chance.
DidnÔt know it is better to feel pain
than to feel nothing at all.
DidnÕt know I could be so cold and disinterested in other peopleÕs lives. This place will teach you.
DidnÕt know my father could show feelings other than anger and frustration until he came to visit me. DidnÕt know how much I love him; didnÕt know I was so much like him.
DidnÕt know my mind is a prison, tougher than the one I am living in. DidnÕt know I am in charge of building and destroying it.
DidnÕt know I would enjoy reading and writing poetry in my cell. In front of a movie theater in Chicago I saw a red sign blinking on and off: Believe it or not! Fascinated I took a photo. My German mind couldnÕt figure it out, but it felt as if it was a mysterious message directed at me. Something was missing.
Now I am sitting in front of a jury, telling an incredible story with a tired face. They chose not to believe me, but I gave them all I could Believe it or not.
I didnÕt know I could live without her.
June 1996
Unknown
Some unknown forces are pulling you down
you cant sleep
you awake in the middle of the night
crying your eyes out
crying and unwilling to believe
of course, it was only a dreamŅ
only a dream?
A nightmare
and even inside it you refused to believe
that she had died
You play it over and over again
people are throwing her belongings away
you try to stop them
clinging to everything that once was her
smelling her
and knowing she is alive
she must be alive
There is no evidence to prove her death
of course they are lying
of course you alone know the truth
you can always die, too
you are walking on deathÕs slippery shower shoes
We were throwing each other kisses from a distance in my dreams
there always seemed to be an obstacle between us
your lips were moving, but I didnÕt understand a word
I tried to tell you how beautiful your lips are
and you were smiling
the world at your fingertips
Raindrops roll like tiny diamonds on concrete
and a blind man with a stick walks by
he too wears a watch
How much longer can I tell myself there is a reason
for everything that happens in my life?
How much longer can I hold on to my dreams?
I am not afraid of my own heartbeat anymore.
December 1996
Breakfast In America
Waiting in the lobby
at 7:45 every morning
for the gate to open.
The expressions on our faces state it plainly
our body doesnÕt lie
our eyes stare at the floor,
the walls and at the ceiling,
mirrors of our wrecked realities
frozen dreams and torment.
There always come a moment when you cant stand it any longer
you start looking around
suddenly you catch yourself examining the rejected mirror of somebody elseÕs loneliness
back to the ceiling
Nobody wants to be here
Nobody wants to wait in this lobby of despair
Nobody wants to go to this mess hall of starving eyes.
an d gulp down breakfast
no matter how famished
tracking through hallways of pain
more eyes staring at you
staring at anything but you
whispers of discouragement in the early morning
only the loneliness of aloneness is at home in these halls
ThatÕs how most of us start our days
we stomp to the mess hall but nobody is ready for breakfast
No, we donÕt eat whatÕs on the menu,
We swallow whatever they serve us
the menu is subject to change, everything else is not
Can you believe it? Some of us are actually racing to get here
anything to avoid their own misery lingering in those abandoned mirrors of manÕs destiny
anything to fill their emptiness,
which cannot be filled, not today,
not tomorrow and definitely not with Ōstate-foodĶ *
Anything to avoid those hungry looks
waiting there, never satisfied
anything to avoid more faces, more eyes scrutinizing you
No, Ōstate-foodĶ doesnÕt look nor taste as good as it sounds on the menu, but that doesnÕt seem to bother our guards.
*
Ōstate-food Ķ is a term commonly used among prisoners in New York State when they refer to the meals served by the state.
April 1997
Again
we walk in circles.
Our eyes focused on the concrete in front of us.
Sometimes I look up to see concrete walls, barbed wires, towers, infrared cameras, and robots in uniformsŅgreen, blue, and grey.
They are shooting a movie again. Somebody is waving at the tower.
He wants to be in the picture.
I keep walking in circles.
Most of the time I even run. Only 20, 988 laps before I will be deported. I wonder if somebody keeps count. CanÕt trust them, you know.
Look at this guy. He is walking in the opposite direction.
DoesnÕt he know he is increasing his sentence?
If I had any time to spare I would tell him.
If I had any time to spare IÕd look up at the sky.
If I had any time to spare IÕd look at their faces
and cry.
August 1996