The Porch

by ~HoustonRH7

In the middle of one of the many no-wheres of which Mississippi is made
Is the place where the majority of my repressed memories reside.
Forever seeming like a yesterday creeping slowly toward today
Exists the  image of a dilapidated southern porch

And though earlier in its life it may have served as the site
Where a family sat and drank iced tea as they passed the time by
With menial talk of, "sure is hot out here,"
This is not the way I remember it

In my mind, it is always 6 am
The dew is just beginning to lift from the large grassy field
And I am in my grey PT sweat-suit
Which proudly displays a cartoon wildcat and the words
"Chamberlain Hunt Military Academy".

I'm sitting next to a handful of highschoolers in the same outfits,
But most with much harder faces than mine
We say nothing as we strain to hear the conversation between our judge and Executioner, formerly of the marines and army respectively

Each of our hearts beats so loudly
That together they form the cadence of a death march;
Small whispers pass between us, like death row inmates
Wondering who may be present at our execution

But silence overtakes us the moment we hear wood on skin
And see the silhouette of another of us
On the opaque glass of the door into the office
The shadow lurching with each pop

And then came the worst seconds,
The ones between pained cries and the time
When the door opened and a boy exited
Too proud to cry, but in too much pain to walk straight

And though I know with every fiber of my being,
If there is a god he would have abandoned me by now,
Some small part of me prays desperately to him
That I will never hear them call "Cadet Hughes"

But I do
And as I walk into the office,
All my surroundings disappear
And are replaced with a combination
Of hatred and fear that runs so thickly through my veins
I move as if made of molasses
But my mind races at mach speed,
Working overtime to fight my flight instinct

Not only do I not see, but I do not hear either.
I know I am charged and always found guilty regardless of the truth
I'm told to turn around, bend over, and grab the door frame
Crucified with my ass hanging out

And right before the ex-professional killer,
And before that baseball player,
Administers his home-run justice,
For one moment my hearing returns
Just in time to hear him as he puts his hand on my shoulder and says
"Lord, please teach this child right from wrong".

And the instant before the oaken paddle explodes
Onto my lily white skin,

I am back in today
Another sleepless night has passed,
And the previous day has been erased,
Leaving no indication of ever having been

But no matter how I try,
The white Mississippi porch
And the fear attached to it
Somehow seem closer.