photo: Chet At Nine

This is a picture of my son when he was nine years old. We went on a family vacation to Disney World. My son is now in his mid-twenties and has been sentenced to ten years in the Texas State Penal System. He went on a trip to El Paso and never came back.

Every time I make the long trek to visit him, I find this place to be a tragic and unyielding city. I am sure there are many beautiful people in El Paso and the following poem in no way reflects on them.

There are currently 1.3 million people incarcerated in Texas. Most of them, including my son, are non-violent offenders. I have always said, “When the prisons are too full and become a drain on society, this is a Q (cue) there are too many laws.” We have become victims of our own bureaucracy. Surely there are more rational and compassionate methods of dealing with drug and alcohol abuse in this country.

The Drive to El Paso
Written January 2003

The drive
Sad, lonely, black, dark
Cold cruel stars
Motionless permanent
Silent tears
Affixed to the black sky
Dripping onto the
Barren winding road
The future pans before me
My tears
Bring no solace
No absolution, no resolve
Nothing but a sting
To pale, expressionless skin
Lights
Loom in the distance
Manufactured light
Barely a convenience
No water, no life,
A gas
Void of compassion, ignited
Checkpoints
What's the point?
The stench of judgment
Wreaks from this wombless place
You,
I, they, we
Are all criminals here, right?
Cement walls no light, no love
Caskets to keep you in, and out
Temporary tombs, permanent corners
To sit in
My son, my sun
What road did we take?
Where could we have turned
To avoid, the void
of El Paso

----

My son would really appreciate any correspondence. Send a letter (no cards allowed) to:

Chester Miller 1124422

Cenral Unit

One Circle Dr.
Sugarland, TX 77478

 

image copyright 2003 by Lisa Ghariani

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