Testimony
Jonathan Valania*This poem contains references to courtroom proceedings, emotional trauma, and the aftermath of domestic violence. It may be triggering for some readers. Please take care while reading.
May 6th, 2025
12:50 pm
My palms won’t stop sweating.
Hands shaking, convulsing.
Is it the nicotine withdrawals?
Or just nerves?
I don’t fucking know.
Phone. Wallet. Keys.
In the bucket.
Watch across my chest.
Step through the metal detector.
Exhale.
Maybe that will build my confidence.
12:55 pm
Pre-trial.
“Just be honest. Tell the truth.
You have nothing to hide.
You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But if I tell the truth,
I’ll upset you.
1:00 pm
Waiting in the lobby.
Still shaking.
A security guard walks past.
Smells like smoke.
He offers me peace.
Thirty minutes until they call my name.
1:05 pm
Slow, steady drags.
Trying to leave my head.
My body still won’t stop.
1:10 pm
Basking in sunlight,
doing anything I can
to avoid today.
But I don’t get to choose.
1:20 pm
Voir Dire.
The jury’s selected.
The rest are dismissed.
I lock eyes with them.
They smile.
I wish I knew what that felt like.
1:30 pm
They’re calling me any minute.
The waiting—
the suspense—
boils over.
1:35 pm
Still waiting.
The arresting officer is here.
I wonder if he remembers that night.
When I cried at the station,
and he—
he took you away.
1:36 pm
“Wake me when they’re ready.”
I try to sleep in my thoughts.
Replaying every highlight
from my deposition.
I close my eyes.
Click my heels.
But I’m still here.
2:30 pm
“Jonathan—
they’re ready for you.”
K. smiles.
She’s a saint.
Like St. Christopher—
safe passage for survivors.
I walk through the door.
The room is almost empty.
But every eye follows me.
Including hers.
Staring with daggers.
She’s angry I showed up.
But I didn’t have a choice.
2:31 pm
“Please raise your right hand.
Do you swear to tell the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth?”
I cough.
Something always catches in my throat
when I speak about you.
“I do, Your Honor.”
May 7th, 2025 – 2:23 pm
“Hey Jon,
It’s K.
Just wanted to let you know—
they found her guilty.”
That was the first time
my hands stopped shaking
in six months.
Read the Next Poem