On Sept. 28, Troy Davis was executed for the 1989 murder of police officer Mark MacPhail in Savannah, Georgia. The execution began at 10:53 p.m. and Davis was declared dead at 11:08 p.m. Throughout the 22 years since Davis’ conviction, numerous human rights groups, celebrities, politicians and members of the public supported his innocence because the murder weapon was never recovered and it was thought that race played a role in his sentence. Davis’ death called human rights, capital punishment and the American justice system in question.

Even though the execution occurred two weeks ago, it sparked an ongoing response from the literary and journalistic worlds, and it is a topic that people have not stopped (and should not stop) discussing.

Lady Justice Fails at 11:08

By Fatima Shabbir
Contest Co-Winner
Published: October 5, 2011

Whether by bullet, bomb or execution hole,

They say you can kill a man’s body but not his soul.

Awaiting his murder, his pain and anguish grows,

But what remains etched in his heart, no one knows.

How unfortunate his torment and injustice must feel,

This cruel game of fate becoming all too damn real.

It’s 11:05 and the injection is coming

His physical is fine, but his heart needs some numbing.

Lady Liberty and Justice both laugh in his face,

Another one of their cruel games to make him lose fate.

Its 11:07 and the drugs are now working,

The truth remains hidden, but Georgia’s eyes are still lurking.

It’s 11:09 and the world is still here,

Yet he rises above and watches down in fear.

Fear that Lady Justice will disregard her blindfold,

And her overused scales will turn rusty and cold.

The question was never about innocence or guilt,

But the tearing down of what our legal system tried so hard to build.

Poet’s Note: In memory of Troy Davis and the downfall of our legal system.

Dear Georgia

By Sarah Grimm
Contest Co-Winner
Published: October 5, 2011

Dear Georgia,

The protesters on 10th Street are

flinging paint Pollack-style

at pedestrians.

A bystander is splattered red.

“Inject, inject,” we chant

all day.

Somewhere, a gurney is readied and

living room lynch mobs

applaud.

I lost my America hat.

The rats are occupying the park

again.