George Bailey stands on a snowy bridge Christmas Eve. He despairs that his family would be better without him. George’s aspirations to explore and build things have been circumvented by duty to family and community. In this moment, he feels small, insignificant, hopeless. The angel Clarence appears and conjures a world without George’s influence. A funhouse mirror turns the charming picture of Bedford Falls and its residents to film noir. Scene by scene unfolds as George recognizes that he has indeed made a wonderful life. We watch the euphoric man loping through the streets awash in gratitude — the minute details that vexed him just moments before are now cherished reminders to give thanks.
The PonyXpress editorial board chose gratitude as the final theme for 2025. Last year, they selected our themes to mark the four directions of prayers they make in the sweat lodge. During our meeting, Jai suggested that we add space and a question mark after the word gratitude. As I organize the submissions for the coming months, I have relied on this ambiguous space and found relief in the question mark. This set of writings often rub against the very edges of gratitude, bleeding over the margins. A sort of “yes grateful and … yet” reality that these folks negotiate. Prison is a place of shifting arbitrary rules and expectations, of misunderstandings in chow lines, multiple personalities negotiating tight spaces, mental health crisis, loss of autonomy. These writings come from a life lived on that snowy bridge.
Emotive experiences (such as gratitude) are dimensional, meaning emotions take form, filling us like breath. Their expression are animated, coloring our vision with the effect. The fullness of euphoria makes us giddy and leaving us sated with joy or excitement, gratitude. But overtime the air escapes bit by bit and we feel the emotion’s verso — not exactly an opposite emotion — just a corresponding difference. Dwindling gratitude may turn us inward as we search for the next sweet breath. This week we corralled writing that expresses the space between gratitude and the space occupied by that question mark. I think of these pieces as moments before the next wave of gratitude fills our writers.
Alone from Hannah Brophy:
I have concluded that I overpack my days with events and people not because I am not enough, but I’m afraid of being alone.
The Fate of Me (A Song of Sad and Forgotten Things) from John W. Davis:
The deepest chambers of my heart bear witness to this song
Wither I go, I will forever, Ever go Alone
Having been long forgotten in the Halls of men, my place stands
empty, gone without a trace.
With No Connection from Yeyin Chin:
I draw in a cell by myself to keep from going hungry in the mornings because my inside darkness has the effect of causing me to despise mornings, so I never attend morning meals. No one on Earth notices my absence. I sit. I rot.
Self-discrimination from John Lewis:
Every day I wake up in the same routine
Of this house of pain
To the point I want to scream
I cannot take back
Untitled from R. Miranda:
I stare at a stone-cold wall
It glares back,
reflecting my burning rage
The Recidivism of Ducks from Jai:
Here they find muddled water
Here the dangers are mitigated
The hunted and the haunted are harbored
A lone figure stands on a bridge, a spell is cast, and he sees his life anew. This is what writing can do. | TDS
These writings offer a glimpse inside, not of only the walls, but the inner thoughts of the authors. Some of the pieces, though they were well done, were beyond my ability to comment. I am a writer also, and value and appreciate feedback, and so offer it as often as I can, but at times I have no appropriate words.
I am reminded of Lucille Clifton's poem "won't you celebrate with me." "...come celebrate/ with me that every day/ something has tried to kill me/ and has failed." Writing can cross barriers. Lucille Clifton was "...both nonwhite and woman" I am a white man, but her words have stuck with me for ten years, from the first time I read these words, and cried.
Thanks for getting these voices out of prison.