Wednesday, March 14, 2012
painting by marcin solarz
I remember going into the jails
and prisons in the late seventies,
early eighties, to teach poetry.
The jailer would unlock a room filled with prisoners,
tell me they'd be back in an hour, two hours, or three,
depending on the agreement with the arts organization.
Most of the imprisoned knew poems by heart.
We'd talk, write and speak poetry, laugh and cry.
I was not with the most hardened of criminals.
I came to understand that most were in there
because they did not have the money to hire an attorney,
or they were represented poorly
because they did not have the best attorney.
This morning I wake up and look for justice.
I feel the Storykeeper whose voice tells me:
"Time, time." And I have come to know Time
as a being with a soul.
Why is it so slow when it comes to Justice here on Earth?
Posted over on her site Poetic Adventures in the Last World Blog