It is Sunday. For some a special day. For me, what do I make of it? Only thing I have planned is to worship our Lord towards the later part of the day.

So early as it is now, I sit on the edge of my bunk. I have the thin prison mattress lapped over the edge of the slab of steel I sleep on, to make it more comfortable. It is mid-summer, so the bright sun has already taken over my cell. So strong, so hot through the barred window.

Time to prepare. I move over to sit on the low trash can. I have a thin piece of plastic in my hand. There to the left of my leg… they sit. All three lined up waiting… An onion, a pepper, and a potato. I am preparing them for a “jail-house stew”. Little stuff, much water.

As I hover over the three, I pick the pepper first. It’s a red pepper, not too big, not too small… I begin, I slice very small pieces. For this must feed two. Patiently, slowly, I work. The bright sun upon the red of the pepper heightens it’s colors. While bending over so close, one can see multi-colors so rich. One’s mind can begin to drift. Mine does. I see places and things, on the side of a vegetable. I see sunsets, and the redness of the hair of a beautiful woman.

Finished with the pepper, I move on to the potato. I pick it up, bring the brown up close to my nose. The sun upon the brown becomes earth. I drift… I see a brown path through the woods. I see me upon a spirited brown horse, and I ride. I slice into the potato, now there is an off white color to the inner potato. I see sand, a beach, me upon it jogging to its end, till I run out of sand.

Last, thee onion. Slowly, I strip the thin skin. It makes a sound. I drift… I think of silk garments, those of a perfumed woman…I begin to cut small pieces, I stop; I reach for my cheap-sunglasses, the fumes you see. I begin again. The strong sun hits the onion’s flesh. I drift… I see diamonds, I see blue diamonds, yellow diamonds, clear too … When I get to the core, it is much shinier. So white, like clouds, puffy white clouds.

Finished. I stand up straight, look at the piles, and smile.

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 23rd, 2009 at 4:14 pm and is filed under Eric Holder, Federal Prison System, George Martorano, Obama, blog, coleman correctional facility, justice department, law, legal, life no parole, no parole, non-violent crime. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.