The featured poet, Tomas Tranströmer, worked in a juvenile prison in the late 1950's. He wrote a few haiku during that period. A couple of these are to be used as inspiration.
Night—a twelve-wheeler
goes by making the dreams of
the inmates shiver
The boy drinks his milk
and sleeps cozy in his cell,
a mother of stone
© Tomas Tranströmer
Our host's beautiful response:
ten p.m. - lights go out
the inmates dream their dreams -
a heart on the beach
© Chèvrefeuille
In the late 1970's and early 1980's the international women's faith group to which I belonged held a yearly mission study. During the night called 'Open University' a group of convicts from the Missouri Women's Prison were a part of our education. A session of hearing stories and backgrounds struck a chord with me. One of the inmates, a young woman barely 5 feet tall shared she had murdered a man. She had issues with men in general as a result of years of sexual abuse at the hands of her father. Ute was open about her sexual orientation. In prison she had found a love denied her in 'freedom'.
I began correspondence with Ute. As personal items are not provided in the prison, packages containing soap, hygiene products, stamps and stationary were being shipped to the prison. A couple of other young women in my local organization joined me in purchasing items for Ute. I purchased underclothing from a local store owner and shared to whom I was sending the obviously not my size bras. The store owner, also a member of the same organization, said the inmate was using me. I told her it was not my responsibility to account for Ute's response, only to live as I felt compelled to do. The store owner shrugged and rang up the sell.
Eventually I stopped the correspondence with Ute due to time issues. The image of that young woman will still float through my mind and I wonder where she is. As for the store owner, she came to my mother in law's funeral last November. She did not mention Ute. I still think, "but by the grace of God...."
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| sourse: Feminspire.com |
cold concrete walls -
love finds escape in a touch
from cherished hands
a gentle caress
love flows from the fingertips
penal institute
rage finds peace
in the icy iron barred cell
loves healing touch
© Janice Adcock
© Janice Adcock
