This is a long overdue letter to a man who is death is scheduled by the state of North Carolina. I hope that one day circumstances will align in such a way that I am able to see him get his autobiography and reflections on maintaining humanity while on Death Row bound into a book. That is the best I can do for now: hope for serendipitous happy endings to the stories I am woven into and try to keep myself in line, keep holding the thread.
He is an intelligent and compassionate human being and it seems such a shame to think that he has been doomed in the way that he has.
Today I found this tiny-perfect feather to go with this tiny-perfect story that I wrote the other day.
*** They held the bird down and it was impossibly still under their hands. They described its beak and its ancient feet, counted the bars on its back. They gave it a name and watched its eyes go flat in stark terror and amazement. Its iris was the color of the red-orange throat, the soft armored breast. Forgetting the numerous flights and old migrations, forgetting the time spent on wires with head cocked forgetting the hair that is woven into nests, they deemed the heart small. ***
*I am referring to the world as it is contrived and managed by calmly tyrannical humans. I have no issue with the world as it is inhabited by birds.
Sad, that I still feel the need to offer disclaimer or assurance of suitable GAF score. On the off chance that someone will read this: If you don’t know what a GAF score is, you’ve no business contemplating my mental health. If you do know what a GAF score is, well, mine is – I am certain – just fine, all things considered.