CUBIC SQUARES

BY NOLAN JAMES BRIDEN

Cubic squares measured out, and placed over the land that once held no structures of oppression, and now hold the tiles of incarceration. I count them off one by one ... in between the tables, the milk machines. As eyes watch over from the murals painted on the walls. My job duties claim me as I move the buffing machine around the floor. I look up to see the clock and think: Man, I'm late for class.

Pulling up late for class, I see the friendly faces, "Aw, Bro made it. Hi Nolan!" As I enter the classroom, I feel the loving embrace of their words. In the writers' workshop (facilitated by Bridgeworks Oregon and the Lakota Oyate-Ki Cultural Club), I see an open chair next to Austin and Le’Var. I met one person here and the other I've been doing time with for a decade plus. I feel connected in their presence.

As the class makes its many pivotal points, stops, turns, and wrap arounds, I let my mind drift to the section of floor I just left with a sheen-shine across the chow hall.  My mind is filled with so many things to write. Having passed a decade and a half of servitude to my sentence, I keep making attempts at breaking the chains of captivity. I feel lost at times and stuck in despair at how I've lost so many of my close loved ones. I feel isolated and further isolate myself. It makes no sense, and yet I isolate. I read an article interview, "How Grieving Changes the Brain." Regular grief vs. Complex grief. Exposing ourselves to the memories within the grief, helps us to really understand it. We are developing new skills, regulation, and what not. I look around the circle of people comprising the room and I feel grateful to have such a solid support and constant knowing that I can create new, positive memories in memory of those ones who have passed on.

My friend Matt came by my cell as I sat on LOP (loss of privileges), “Bro, I didn't know if I spelled his name right, but here it is.” He gave me a big nametag sticker with two names on it. Across the very top it read: Out of Darkness, Suicide Prevention. Angi and Frankie were the two names written on the tag — Matt's auntie, and my older brother. It was an event walk to bring awareness to suicide, and suicide prevention. (Indigenous communities have the highest suicide rates in the country.)  Being on LOP, I was unable to attend the event. My brother Matt walked for me, a brother walking for the brother I lost. | NJB

NOLAN JAMES BRIDEN WAS RAISED IN PORTLAND, OREGON. HIS ROOTS BLOOM FROM RICH CULTURES,  BLACKFEET AND IRISH.  HE WRITES: “I’M JUST GETTING TO A POINT IN THE EXPLORATION OF WRITING TO BE ABLE TO SAY IT IS A RELATIONSHIP THAT I UNDERSTAND; THEN, I READ A DIFFERENT STYLE, FORM, OR WAY OF WRITING AND MY JOURNEY RESTARTS TO UNDERSTAND.” NOLAN IS A MEMBER OF THE LAKOTA OYATE-KI CULTURE CLUB AT OREGON STATE PENITENTIARY AND HE IS A FOUNDING MEMBER OF THE GROUND BENEATH US WRITING GROUP.