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I am a mommy, scribe, and middle-school English teacher. I am trying to cope with being separated from my beloved. DoUWantMore? email me: theprisonerswife@gmail.com

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freestyle

Posted by the prisoner's wife On 10:01 AM
untitled poem # 23

the warehouse heaves
two million bodies       stored efficiently
   head to toe to head
bunks stacked high     holding     families

are collateral damage
searched and questioned and branded
guilty for maintaining some semblance
of togetherness      a patchwork
of relationships carved out amid surveillance
privacy is a luxury     not sold
in the commissary

6 Response to 'freestyle'

  1. http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143137580000#c114313758317555504'> Thursday, March 23, 2006 10:13:00 AM

    nice! ain't it JUST like that though?

     

  2. http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143139920000#c114313996640289029'> Thursday, March 23, 2006 10:52:00 AM

    sadly, yes.

     

  3. Stephen Bess Said,
    http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143143100000#c114314315255107155'> Thursday, March 23, 2006 11:45:00 AM

    Sounds like the Middle Passage.

     

  4. http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143147300000#c114314734588290715'> Thursday, March 23, 2006 12:55:00 PM

    i never thought of that. but it does.

    thank you for a new perspective.

     

  5. Anonymous Said,
    http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143521760000#c114352179573934335'> Monday, March 27, 2006 8:56:00 PM

    mama tries to understand
    but says it's hopeless
    wipes the waiting eyes
    & sets my soul for stitching
    needle and thread
    for the tears
    grey goose the pain until
    my chest heaves and
    my heart bleeds
    thinking bout...
    the distance...
    the time...
    the crime...
    and how his seed still
    can't understand the absense of a memory that was once free
    commissary women comiserating
    silence louder than the jam in the traffic - damn,
    the ride upstate is just too long
    and I'm cryin' every time
    I hear our favorite song
    i numb the pain
    by pouring out these scribes from my veins
    and waiting for the hope to feel
    less
    well, hopeless...

    prisoner's wife I've been/am where you are and hope my strength transcends seas, gives weight to wait, breaks sound and comes to you when the nights make you feel the day light will never get there soon enough.

    You Sister in Arms still in NYC.

     

  6. http://theprisonerswife.blogspot.com/2006/03/freestyle.html?showComment=1143524700000#c114352475674609853'> Monday, March 27, 2006 9:45:00 PM

    thank you, thank you.

    you words give me strength to wait out this wait.