You're in the Jailhouse Now

Now if I had the wings of an angel
Over these prison walls I would fly.
I would fly to the arms of my poor darlin',
And there I'd be willing to die.

From "The Prisoner's Song," by Guy Massey

This was a song verse I remembered from childhood for some reason. And it came back to me when I was planning the next journal topic for the women in my writing workshop. It was our second session.

They wrote eloquently about the topic "If I Had Wings." A poem and a narrative description. They were all wonderful and all different. I'm learning so much from them every week.

The first week, they wrote about "What I Believe to Be True About Me." Wow.

You may recall I'm a volunteer with the Literacy Center at the Mesa County Library. Last time, I taught a US Citizenship class. This time, I'm launching a pilot project in the jail. The women said they wanted to do journaling and poetry. Write (ha!) up my alley.

So I went into a jail for the first time in my life. (And was even more grateful I hadn't been caught doing things in the past that would have landed me there.) It was weird.

The prison movies came alive, and it wasn't pretty. But it was different. It was empty.

Every week I walk through a series of doors so heavy they still startle me when they slam shut, even though I expect it. It's clean; too clean. Too white. Too stark.

I have to wait at each door until my buzz is noticed by "the tower." And in between each door, I'm isolated. Stuck alone between two doors I couldn't open myself if I had a grenade.

Then I walk to our classroom, which is big and empty and echoes everything. Plastic chairs. Bare walls. Three small tables for the women to use as writing surfaces. I have to sit in the sight line of the tower. If I don't and they don't see me for a while, COs (Correctional Officers) will come running. Thankfully.

But I'm not afraid. The halls are wide and empty. The seargent's office is close by. Heavy doors separate me from the population...as far as I can tell. Still, it's strange.

The women — we started with 7 — are great. Mostly in for drugs, theft, and domestic violence. (Yes, women hit, too. Escpecailly if they're violent alcoholics.) I can't tell you about them individually, but I like them all.

Last week when I showed up, one had been shipped off to prison in the early morning hours, and one woman had decided the workshop wasn't for her. The remaining 5 will stay, I think, until they peel off without notice as they are sentenced or go to fill their sentences.

Until then, we'll act like everything is normal. Because it is...we're the first, so whatever we do is what is normal. We'll see. I''ll let you know more as we go on.

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