The waiting room instantly changes after they walk in. After about 15 minutes or so they come in – some I know, and some I don’t. Somehow, I make it in through the doors, get processed and patted down, and sit down to wait for the other volunteers. But first, I have to steel myself through the looming, silver barbed wire fences and swallow the sudden feeling of being very, very small. I’ve been working with Poetic Justice for a little more than a year now during the pandemic – learning the ins and outs of over-incarceration, writing letters and poems to people locked down inside women’s prisons, and making friends along the way – but this will be the first time that I get to see the real magic of the work Poetic Justice does: the poetry classes. I’m outside a medium-security level women’s prison in Oklahoma, about to go to my very first in-person Poetic Justice class. I park the car and take a deep breath, trying to expel the crazy levels of anxiety building in my chest.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |