On the second anniversary of the city jail's ME-First class, I sat in a darkened room with a dozen women watching Cadillac Records. A break from their typical sessions dealing with addiction problems, the inmates gasped at key moments and kept a running commentary like giddy school kids during recess.
Though they were clearly enjoying the film, several women jumped up when they noticed superintendent Nancy Leazer and I seated in the back. One brought over a tray of cookies; a special treat in honor of the anniversary. Another inmate was right behind to offer us napkins. A third poured Lipton Green Tea into two paper cups.
But, even with the lights off, sipping tea and watching the movie, I was distracted by the butcher paper all over the walls. Scrawled in markers, there were handmade posters covering nearly every inch of cinder block. Toxic Shame. Power Chart. Looking forward; hope for the future!
My eyes settled on a long block of pink text. It was a poem the women had written about "The 180 Bluez" -- a reference to the maximum number of days inmates are sentenced to MCI. A few days later, Leazer sent me another poem, with no title, written by a women serving 180 days on child endangerment.
Check them out after the jump.
The 180 Bluez
here's the news
about the 180 Bluez
we did the crime
and now doing the time
we wake up at 5:00
from a early morning snooze
in our orange shoes
we're not used to these dudes
cooking out food
with there nasty hands
and they are rude
so we don't know what to expect
from the mysterious food
like they always say
here i go again
through MCI intake
running into the same ole scene
looking at the dusty greens
they always say write a kite
but they can't get it right
we don't get the time
to use the phone
by the time the phone is on
it's time to get off the phone
some of the guards are pretty cool
they do they job
some of the time
they help us out
the caseworkers here
help us with housing
and clothing and jobs
to help us change our life
and do what's right
we leave this story
in the hands of God
he helped us through this
in the time of need
we did our time
now it's time to say goodbye
to the bad news
to the MCI 180 Bluez
Untitled poem
by Jeannie Butler
Do you hear my voice calling out in this loud, crazy world?
Do you see me crying and alone as you pass by me on your way to work or home?
I'm hunger, I'm fear, I'm loneliness, I'm homeless, I'm despair.
Do you take the time to see me? Just look I'm all around.
I'm right here.
Do you choose to ignore me and just go on your way?
Do you say maybe tomorrow but not today?
Do you pretend I don't exist,
Like you didn't see me needing a little help, a little kindness, a little time and care
Or did you act like you didn't see me there?
Are my cries of need covered up by your constant useless chatter and greed?
I won't ever just disappear.
If you don't help me now, I will be here year after year.
My face will change but the need will remain the same.
Help me now so I can help another some day.
Isn't that supposed to be the way?
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