The Subculture of the Wrongfully Accused

Ultimately improved by it:slant light

hitting his prison obliquely

near the state bird’s pointed headaccentuated

crest, the black-ringed bill

from which wheat-wheat-wheat-wheat

from which whoit cheer, whoit cheer;cheer- cheer-cheer

inspired Ronald Cotton to listen

as in his head, the solitary cardinalindulged in snails

which seemed like polished fossils

of trophy hog tails(after prize butchery)

that Ronald was able to recall,

his hair a mess of replicas of them

as industrious as the state

whose success was poultry & eggstobacco & soybeans

as well as convictions:

None as tightly knit as Jennifer’s(not even the state flag)

that she could identify Cotton

that cotton’s taking on appearancesother than burst white

of a dense localized haze from whichto weave memory, following

pink-petaled start, rather a satellitedish of a flower, pollen/sensor-

studded antenna protruding fromthe center

undeniably; the jury couldn’t acquitCotton

of its role in documenting and alteringJennifer’s history,

many lives changed

as result of consequences, sensorsthat boast duality

of receptor and transmitter: witness:insects give and take, taint

what is put out, taken in; mix

it up so that interrelatednessspreads

and the understandable error ofmetaphor

becomes less erroneous over time:

eleven years in prison, innocencelocked up, protected

although in prison, it resembledsomething else.

If Cotton strained, he could seethe top

of a Ferris wheel on the horizonjust a possible

segment of a rainbow the lengthof a chain

of cardinal feathers

even though it wasn’t that at all.The eye witnesses all the time,

even the unseeing eye is turnedtoward a focus

on black, saturation dense asconviction; the eye

processes, pulls in whole vista to aretinal speck

of convergence

which is to say there is some Cottonin Poole,

some connection, independentshared participation in cold

beer, occasional cards turkey-spread

in the right hand without knowingthe other

sank into the seat at the cinemathe same way

and sampled Funnel cake at thestate fair

within a week of each other

and more than that in common:both being men

and convicted for what men really can and really do, do.

Including sometimes confessionsand apologies; cash reparations

after the innocence is free to extend its parameters

to unlocked doors, be an oversizedover-zealous white bird

floating down the aisle, its cottonyhaze lifted

in order to kiss and marry Ronald’scalm delight in being able

to take his time

leave his longshoreman’s mark onships

that take some of him to any port in the world: durable goods

such as the DNA whose precisiondetects human exactitude,

and could build as many Ronalds as time would permit

something Jennifer now desperately wants to do, restoring

what was lost because it was likesomething else,

because the fact of similarityis compelling, convincing;

if connections could not be made,there’d be no havens, no fugitive

status lost to fusion, no linksto God, no human

murmurings whoseconstant echoes

are also the gentle silvery humof fans praying

over computer motors to cool themand also mimic

motion of small wings amplifiedto make sound

in the distance much likethe electric razor

preparing a head on death row clean as a light bulb.

Ronald was prepared to be believed;

he saw the quiet manner of his long days in court

as evidence of his rationality andcontemplativeness

such as befits clergy; a potentialpropensity for order,

mercy, the steadiness required todispense blessings

mostly on the undeserving withoutemotion or judgment

selfishness or preference

while he was being judged guilty forlack of emotion,

for Jennifer’s incontrovertible emotional insistence

on Cotton’s being the one—she hadto finger him

to be comfortable within her survival.No way to mistake

to ever forget details documented inmemory,

the event relived to the point that itresculpted her brain

into a Cottony bust (he was thereto be the perfect model)

whose reality floated awayin a Poole,

as only the reflection of Cotton

identified as source. A situationalso called (must-have) moonlight.

Here’s the new & improved Cotton:

eleven years in the making;enough

time served to anger to ruin it; at thatsame room’s temperature

it became doubt of clemency, pardon:peculiar butter that erupted

as gratefulness for the miracle of absolute exoneration

when his impossibility as rapistwas proven.

Even Cotton conceded thatthe composite sketch

bore a just resemblance to Cotton,displayed a metaphor for men

like Cotton, the seeds of capabilityin the structure of the face,

the human repertoire that includesCotton

who softly consents to meet Jennifer when she asks him to

funnel her regret and apologies deep into himself, accepting that

she meant no malice toward himbut toward

the perpetrator whom many menresemble, all

brothers, family

of man resemblance; Cotton’sown daughter, Cotton’s own wife

could be in a similar position; nooffense

taken, captivated by the beauty ofJennifer; her superior logic

refusing to let the crime against her

silence her; as sure, as certain, asdazzling

about speaking up about mistakingCotton for Poole

as she was in identifyingin the lineup

the closest thing there to Poolethe best

available, the incrediblelikeness

that memory seized, filling gaps inthe recollected Poole

with Cotton’s particulars.She felt better in her cotton- touched skin.

Metaphor is a form of forgiveness; a short rope of it knots-up

those that can’t come together any other way into being defined

by the other. Strange

and estranged pairings give rise to mutable truth

that can yield to both dawn and twilight

demands that things be seen differently.

Jennifer in moonlight instead of being illuminated moon whose face

was also in Emmett Till’s way, but this generation of Jennifer has another side

home late after a day of good faithin which she and Cotton team up

at a church to speak up about doubtas less a shadow than certainty.

Memory is as accurate as metaphor, an overlay

that always fits something, that like the purest

most sparkling water is too naïvenot to submit

to any vessel into which it’s poured.Just to be guzzled.

Perhaps the vessel in which cottonbecomes a pool

in which North Carolina is shapedlike an embryo:

Humanity still on the brinkof infancy.