I don’t know what will happen but my mind goes back to the spider web and my thoughts keep asking am I the spider or the prey?
Osmus Garfield
Osmus is ensnared in his thoughts, worrying the rough edge of self-doubt; can he count on his future self (later today, tomorrow, ten years in the future) to act in his best interest? The carceral system is a never-ending labyrinth. In my short time engaged in prison work, I’ve come to understand how people are unwittingly consumed. Prison’s impact can be felt at any point in life, because once it touches a family the threads wrap around every heart in the circle. These are impossible stories that have powerfully tragic beginnings and endings, stumbles, and fall after fall after fall. Becoming a member of these communities ensures disappointment, heartbreak, painful goodbyes, swimming through fear. Incarcerated folks are navigating a seemingly arbitrary series of rules and regulations, sometimes ignored, sometimes enforced. This maze of bureaucracy and cruelty is centered in the human realm of foibles and inconsistency. The autonomy of a person you love is controlled by the state and navigating it requires resilience and grit and grace.
This is containment.
Perfidy by Mitchell Adair:
Unfeeling and quelled I fell to those who would wield me.
Saints and sinners merge, indistinguishable.
No substance save pain and relief,
a mercenary of alleviation arbitrarily found.
Hard Time in IMU by Marcus Standing Crow:
That’s why I stay busy, remaining in motion, reading ‘til I go to sleep, writing ‘til my hands hurt, getting lost in my thoughts, scratching the paper making my pen bleed my truest of trues, and highest of highs, killing time with a passion, keeping misery’s angels at bay.
Inside/Outside by Richard Owens
some take the form of liquids, powders or smoke
some burst your back; work you down to the bone
others turn serious topics to jokes
yet others appear when we feel all alone
Heeling by R. Miranda.
I stare at a stone-cold wall,
it glares back, reflecting my blinding rage.
My naked eyes helplessly exposed, lids fall
slowly, immediately like an umbrella collapsing,
There are myriad entrances into the labyrinth: growing up accepting calls from an inmate at Oregon State Penitentiary; MacLaren youth facility; addiction; a catalog of stupid mistakes; a bad choice, or no choice. Once inside, the people and stories you will encounter defy your expectations … including the brain trust of brilliantly creative, resourceful people.
Long time readers will recognize Granny’s name. With less than a year left on her sentence, Granny was transferred to minimum. The energetic bustle of the minimum dorm life was not ideal for an 81-year-old woman who relies on a walker, so she requested a transfer back to her handicapped-access cell in medium. One of the units has been closed, and no handicapped cells are available in the honor dorms. The only solution for Granny is living with intakes. As you can image, the atmosphere in a unit filled with new prisoners can be rather intense. The woman who spent her career as a teacher returns to instruction. Crochet, coloring, crafts, and writing were activities that have kept Granny grounded during the time she has served and so she is doing what she knows best — passing along this knowledge to the woman around her. The women living on Granny’s unit have no idea how fortunate they are to have her sitting at the head of the table.
Carolyn Stickley asks Why Am I Here?
There is a calmness to a time lived in gratitude. Relaxation is the body’s natural antidote to stress with coloring and drawing. This causes us to cope with our new prison community and rules.
In Worthy of a Life — Dear Me, Shane Espinoza writes about his friendship with a man who struggles with suicidal ideation. Shane describes the man’s difficulty in finding hope and how his music has helped him make peace during his prison sentence.
There are very few people he called friend. He had difficulty with relationships, especially in prison. The loneliness prevented him from sharing his fears. Not a healthy place to be.
There are many roads into prison but very few ways out. A few weeks ago, we were rerouted through the passage at OSP that the incarcerated travel for intake and release. I wonder if I am exaggerating when I say that the metal gates that opened for us and closed quickly behind seemed louder and more menacing. That afternoon, we crossed the same gates that our released writers walked through after 20+ years inside.
Those of who work in the labyrinth are fundamentally changed. We know folks who work in prisons who are deeply committed to improving the lives inside. Danny and I feel such respect for the people with whom we work directly. They do everything possible to aid our efforts. We arrive, go through security, and run a workshop. These folks are there day in and day out, navigating the human field. All the while, answering to the bureaucracy of budget cuts and staffing shortages. And like everywhere in the world, they deal with coworkers who are simply punching a timeclock.
Once a week, we encounter a guard who we only seen through the darkened glass of Control. We ding in our badges and then hand them through the port. Every week, he seems as if he has never seen us before. He looks closely at the badge front and back; he studies as if it is the first time. I will say a chippy good morning and hold open my tote for his inspection. Keep in mind, we have been through a metal detector, shoes off, bag and coats through the conveyer and another officer has checked our badges. He’s so stiff, I thought he was just being a jerk. One day he told us (albeit sternly) that our badges were soon to expire and we better renew them. In that exchange, I realized that in fact he has our backs.
As Osmus says, it’s a web. Once you are woven in, you are sometimes spider, sometimes prey. You can try to quit, but the stories will haunt you. | TDS