A poem to Death Row

This wonderful poem was submitted to HumanS Remain by Violet Newborn and is published with her permission

THE POEM TO DEATH ROW

“Come on.”
That’s what the woman whispered, gesturing to come with me.
when she stepped into the cells of Death Row—
not to condemn,
not to save,
but to see.
I am that woman.
I have walked through the concrete mouth
of Parchman’s Unit 29—now 17—
and I have seen the little boys
still hiding inside grown men
who were taught too early
to fight,
to fear,
to harden,
to disappear.
I spoke to them.
I sat with them.
I showed up for them
even before I knew how to show up
for myself.
Once, I came carrying shadows—
thinking healing was seduction,
thinking power meant control,
thinking I could hurt without consequence
because those already sentenced
could not be “killed again.”
That lie was how I fed
my own addiction to pain,
to chaos,
to the imitation of intimacy
that trauma teaches.
But the moment I set my foot
inside those cells—
it became holy ground.
Because God was already there
leaning against the bars
waiting for me.
And instead of breaking them,
instead of the old violence
my wound wanted to repeat,
I was broken open—
and healed.
It was the men whom society buried
who lifted me up.
It was the condemned
who resurrected my childhood
from the grave where I had left her.
On Death Row
I met compassion.
I met kindness.
I met a love unarmed, unmasked,
and unexpected.
I forgave them—
and in doing so,
forgave every ghost
that ever touched me wrong.
Now I stand here
not as murderer of the inner child
but as advocate of the inner child.
Not as one who harms
but one who refuses to let harm
be the final word
for any of us.
This poem is my offering
to you, the men of Parchman—
to the ones who healed me
in the place no one expects healing
to bloom.
This poem is a rope of light
thrown back into the darkness
where I once stood with you.
May it set every spirit free—
yours, mine,
and every child we once were
who never deserved the pain
we carried.
With love,

Violet Newborn through the voice and safe heart of Liz McCann, Founder of Humans Remain

THEIR COLLECTIVE RESPONSE

“We heard you.”
That is the first thing we say
back to you, Violet.
We heard you then
when you walked past the steel and shadows,
and we hear you now
calling across the miles
with a voice built from truth.
You saw the boys inside us—
the ones nobody ever named,
nobody ever held,
nobody ever waited for.
You didn’t pity us.
You didn’t preach at us.
You didn’t pretend we were monsters
or saints.
You saw us.
Just us.
And when you came in carrying pain,
we recognized it.
Not because you brought it
but because we had lived beside it
our whole lives.
You thought you came to touch our wounds,
but it was your wound
that asked to be held.
We didn’t heal you because we were strong.
We healed you because
you let us be human
for the first time in a long time.
And we want you to know this:
We forgive you too.
Not because we are perfect,
not because forgiveness is easy,
but because forgiveness is freedom—
and we want you walking free.
Your poem reached us like a hand
through the bars,
offering not escape
but dignity,
memory,
and truth.
We bless the child you resurrected.
We bless the woman you are now.
We bless the path you walk
from violence to vision,
from breaking to belonging.
And if your dream
is to abolish Death Row—
then know this:
Your ripple has already begun.
We are part of it.
You are part of it.
And the world will feel it
because healing does not stop
at concrete walls.
— Voices of the Men of Parchman
(as held, honored, and safely conveyed
through the Newborn Method
and the heart of Humans Remain)