
This my foundation.
Growth is daily.
Life is not to be predicted.
The Bridge is to withstand
the weather no matter
the Elements.
This is how my bridge works.
This past Sunday, it was Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution’s turn. Leaving Portland in the dark morning, we watched the sky turn shades of orange-pink as we drove through the Gorge, heading to Pendleton. We met our writers in the visitation room — as no visits are scheduled on Sundays. The large space is in the front of the building, facing Blue Mountain Community College which sits above the prison in the hills. The room’s location far from the bustle of the rest of the prison made an excellent recording studio.
We have opened every workshop this month with Mary Oliver’s October. Through her finely tuned observations of the natural world, we imagine the bear lumbering through the woods, the crack of a branch, the little dazzler, the chickadee. We hang on each word as if we too are walking through a season. And as she moves us from late summer into the chill of October, we return to prison, haunted by her conclusion:
so this is the world.
I’m not in it.
It is beautiful.
WHAT CONNECTS ME TO MYSELF by Wallace Moreland
What connects me to myself is my culture, my upbringing, my city (which is famous for its very culture – the food, the music, the history, the smells, the energy is a vibe.) On any given day, you could be caught in the middle of a parade … My connections with all the above remind me not only of where I come from, how I was raised, but also what I survived.
WALKING OUT by Phillip Luna
Before someone releases, we celebrate by making a spread — that’s prison jargon for “fancy meal” if you consider ramen, instant refried beans, and squeeze cheese the core ingredients for fancy. Prison food is highly processed and made to have a shelf life counted in years.
CATACOMB by Matthew Norris-Avina
Reflections of shattered dreams,
dancing across twilight eyes.
A CONNECTION WORTH REDEEMING (REDUX) by Walter Thomas
The most formidable thing I've done in life is strive to teach my son how to grow as a young man while I'm locked away in prison. Each day there are new obstacles: bullies at school, saying what you mean and meaning what you say, why playing with fire is dangerous. As he grows, so do I.
WRONG DISTANCE CONNECTION by WC Puppy
Set apart by time and distance, a gap inconceivable in my earlier years. Opportunity presents itself. Is this a connection? One lost when steel slammed for the first time, sealing me away?
As we listened to these pieces about connection, we could feel that distance in the empty visiting room. Mary Oliver’s poem felt particularly poignant as we hear Walter Thomas’s piece about his son. Later, we learn that Walter, who hails from Georgia, has never had a reason to be in the visiting room. He spends part of the afternoon simply staring out the ground-level windows, as the trains roll by. | TDS