Prison Writing Workshop
Eleven ravens roost
in a winter cottonwood
wind slices through
my jacket as the lock
snaps shut
fingers strain at the weight
of papers and books
and pens and notepads
and other dangerous characters
as a man lights his cigarette
on an electrical coil
wired to a steel post
a bare grey stump
bleaches in the sun
mute now
no breeze can stir the leaves
it used to offer as shade
and here in this
clear unforgiving
light
no one
can hide or run
but a man can refuse
square one of
a new year
a blank page waits
for the story
that will mark the passing
of steps in hopeless time
snow shimmers on the mountain
far beyond the confining wire
one by one the ravens
lift into the wind and are carried
on the words
thrown down like dice
in this the last and
only chance to
harvest new truths
born of an
impossible heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment