I can’t picture these walls covered in blood, nor these corridors teeming with testosterone. Outside, a gull screams at a woman with a bouncy ponytail. If the gull squawks, you’re too close. Says its bodyguard. Lavender wafts in on the briny breeze, and the rolling hills are gold beyond blue. In Cell Block D, there’s a window slit in the concrete wall: overlooking a steep, rocky decline. Were the daffodils always there? Do they bloom year-round? The ferry hum interrupts the birdsong. Clanging, shouting, stabbing, stealing. How long did that fire burn? Inside the hole, I close the heavy door, there isn’t even a crack of light, all is lost, except for the dampness in my bones. Someone opens the door and says: What a strange thing to do. Back in Cell Block D, I peer through the window slit. The daffodils sway on the decline. How do I love this life right here? The aching heart in my tender chest, this cobbled toe in a too-small shoe. I pause. I yearn.
“The daffodils sway on the decline.
How do I love this life right here?
The aching heart in my tender chest,
this cobbled toe in a too-small shoe.
I pause. I yearn.”
Damn that hit hard. I loved this, and the line about not being able to imagine the blood on the walls really struck a chord with me❤️❤️
Having visited Alcatraz a few times, you captured it completely. I could never quite wrap my words around the feeling of being there, but the imagery of the window slit in the concrete wall ... somehow, that's it.
If you're interested in the time when the corridors were teeming with testosterone, highly recommend watching Escape From Alcatraz (1979) about the three prisoners that escaped in the early 1960s and were never found.