Alone on the Prison Yard

I hermitage a rarely silent, prison yard.

I peer at the familiar 16-foot high prison wall.

Barbed wire adorns its icy shoulders.

Somehow, it reminds me of beautiful Christmas Ivy.

My sight lands upon a point of light

as it captures a daybreak dewlet.

Like a fragile, luminous ghost,

its bright, sharp point shivers a moist dance.

A sparrow suddenly drops from the air,

briefly grasps the wire tip with its little feet,

then quickly using this wet jewel as a launching pad,

it reascends.

Springing from acquiescent wire,

a faint spray jet-trail dissipates the wet, diamond dew.

In mid-flight,

tilting its elfin head toward me,

I could have sworn I saw a signal of camaraderie in its tiny eye.

At that moment,

I learned that eyes have wings.

Author notes

I've hard a haard time through the years writing poetry of when I was in prison. I've writen a few 'sorta' stories about it, but it was more factual. I'm thinking it might be a good idea to give people a snapshot into my life poetically, even the rough parts. I was listening to Anne Sexton and others read about their tough experiences, and found it caaught my soul on the idea of sharing in this ultra personal way. I love to learn about people (esp poets) and what experiences "make them tick". If you have any feedback about whether this is a good or a bad idea, please let me know. Thank you.

Oh, the cell block is the same as it used to be, but it looks like they must have quit using this part of the prison, I'm guessing. Anyway, you'll notice the screen covering the upper tiers? They had to do that, because of a nasty practice of throwing people off of the walkways.