Can You Feel the Free in Me by NY Writers Coalition

CAN YOU FEEL THE FREE IN ME W RITING FROM THE R OSE M. S INGER C ENTER ON R IKERS I SLAND

NY WRITERS COALITION PRESS SPRING 2018 3

ISBN: 978-0-9986029-7-4 Library of Congress Control Number: 2017961525 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Upon publication, copyright to individual works returns to the authors. Editor: Deborah Clearman Layout: Nicole Di Luccio, Catherine Abbate Title: Jazzy Cover Image: Deborah Clearman after Dürer Interior Image: Eder Pozo Pérez Can You Feel The Free In Me contains writing by members of the NY Writers Coalition creative writing workshop at the Rose M. Singer Center on Rikers Island. NY Writers Coalition Press, Inc. 80 Hanson Place, Suite 604 Brooklyn, NY 11217 (718) 398-2883 info@nywriterscoalition.org www.nywriterscoalition.org

CONTENTS INTRODUCTION BY DEBORAH CLEARMAN

ORIGINAL WRITING BY ASTARRA H.

BEVERLY COLE

BRIANNA EARLE

CHERRY

CHIVONA H.

CEE

DEBORAH CLEARMAN

DEE-DEE

ELAINA P.

ELIZABETH SHEELEY

GREY

JACQUELINE RODRIGUEZ

JAZZY

KAY

KIM WILLIAMS

LATRINA CROCKER

NADINE P.

NICOLE SMITH

ONYX CARTER

SELVAGGIA PIZZETTI

TAMIKA POWELL

WHITNEY SIMMONS

ZARAH E. COOMBS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

❖ The women straggle into my creative writing workshop. They come in jittery, gloomy, timid, angry, boisterous, loud. They settle into a circle of chairs around a large table. The room is spare, but clean and bright. Sun pours in through windows. The only difference between this and an ordinary classroom is that the windows are barred, and the women are wearing uniforms—khaki (detainees) or green (sentenced inmates). I hand out sheets of paper and short “golf” pencils. Regular pencils and pens are banned; they could be used as weapons. “We’ll begin with a freewrite,” I tell them, “a warmup to stretch our writing minds.” I’m not being condescending when I say we; I write along with the group. “You can write a journal entry, a poem, a to-do list, a letter, a rant. You can write a true story or make things up. Just sit with your feelings and see what comes to mind.” Some dive right in. Others stare off into space. The hubbub, chatter, and jostling continue for a while, until it slowly dies, and all I hear is the scratching of pencils on paper. The workshop has begun. We are on Rikers Island, the New York City jail, sometimes called the largest penal colony in the world, in the women’s facility known as the Rose M. Singer Center, Rosie’s for short. It’s a drop-in workshop. Anyone can come; they don’t have to sign up in advance. Some come once. Some become regulars. One woman has been in the workshop for almost two years. I’ve been leading the workshop, once a week, for more than six. After the freewrite I will offer a writing prompt, but it 9

is always a suggestion. The women can write whatever they want. After the writing time they are given a chance to read their new writing out loud, but they never have to read. The group will tell them what we like in the writing; we will not criticize. Reading brand new writing aloud is a brave act. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve heard their voices reading words of pain, hope, suffering, faith, remorse, survival, love and joy. Tears flow; fingers snap in appreciation. At the end of the workshop the women will walk out a little more hopeful, a little more joyous than when they came in. More than 1,000 women have participated in this workshop since I began leading it in 2011. This is our third book of writing from the workshop. In 2015 NY Writers Coalition published the second, These Are Hard Times For Dreamers, and celebrated the book with a reading in the jail by workshop members, to which inmates, correction officers, and outside guests were invited. Being heard, seeing your words on the page, is an empowering experience for any writer. No one has been more transformed by their voices than have I.

Deborah Clearman, Workshop Leader

ASTARRA H.

HELL’S KITCHEN I came home from school and there she was again, thinking I’m a fool nodding out while sitting at the kitchen table. You don’t know how bad I wish I was able— able to stop her from getting high but that’s impossible, like wishing I could fly. I was only seven years old and all the jewelry I had that was gold was sold, I was robbed of being a child. I grew up in a lifestyle that was wild. I remember picking her face up from a bowl of soup, her eyes always seeming to droop. Then I found her with a needle in her hand. I wished I was in another land. Mom, please change your ways. I don’t want to countdown your days. I love you to the moon and back. I don’t want you to think this is an attack; it’s just me reaching out cause I love you.

SOBER OR HIGH EQUALS = PAIN I never knew I would feel more pain when I’m sober compared to the pain when I’m high. I guess thinking clear and having all the disturbing memories of my actions due to using is a lot to deal with. I also have to deal with all of the consequences from getting high. The pain I caused my family, all of the relationships I ruined. It really hurts me and now I don’t know how to manage it all. How can someone who has done so much damage to themselves and their family. How will I be able to look into the mirror after selling myself and I mean “selling myself” in every meaning of those words? I guess I may not ever know how to but I do know I will have to deal with it without the use of drugs. I never knew I would rather pain sober than pain high.

MERCY, MERCY ME Things ain’t what they used to be! Whatever happened to the meaning of a gentleman? What happened to dinner and a movie? A date? Opening up the car door? Or pulling out your chair! Or something simple like having manners and respect. Things ain’t what they used to be! He didn’t refer to me as a woman but did call me a bitch. He never took me out on a date but did beat me at home right after I cooked him dinner. Pushed and forced me into the car and slapped me so hard I fell off of a chair. Had no respect for me and none of my feelings mattered. Things ain’t what they used to be! No, no, no Oh mercy, mercy me. He treats me like a queen and says I’m his world. He cooks me dinner and we watch my favorite movie. He carries me if my feet hurt and wipes off my chair before I sit down. He is so polite and treats me like no one else matters. Things ain’t what they used to be! They’re better.

BEVERLY COLE

BARELY NINETEEN Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m barely nineteen but Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve done more than most, stood on the corner when ordered to take my post. With a pimp in my face and a trick in his ride, I do what I can to get my next high. As I am through I head to my room. My head filled with doom I put the crack in my stem and pray this is the hit that brings my hell to an end.

HECTIC The past couple weeks have been very hectic. I started to feel a little skeptic, which causes me to do things that are septic making my life hectic! I’ve always taken myself forward one step then boom 2 steps back. I’ve turned my life around and I love the way that sounds. My feet are finally planted on solid ground. No more running around, being the class clown. I’ve finally decided to settle down.

FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE It never stops at all but I will continue to crawl until I define it all. My mission is new, I don’t need a crew, just me and my strength to pull me through. Over all I feel I can stand tall; however I fear the fall. That’s when I feel small and eaten alive by it all. I will continue to fight this addiction and renew my ambition. Success is in my sights. No more standing in the streets on those lonely cold nights, feeling pain and fright. I’m now fighting for my life.

BRIANNA EARLE

MOM Only because I feel good today will I give you a chance. You played game after game then got up and pranced off into the night and left me lonely. When will she understand? She created me and molded me: I have her eyes I also have her nose I have her sarcasm I even have her toes Still to this day. I’ve lived for twenty-one years. She doesn’t answer my calls nor wipe my tears. All I want is my mom’s embrace. It’s crazy I feel like I’m in the 60s and me and her is a different race. But since she says she loves me and wants another chance today I’ll invite her to a club so we can go out and dance.

HURTFUL WORDS Stupid silly me. Bitch, hoe, nigga, less of a man. Dumb bitch, hoe, nigga, less of a man, dumb, bitch . . . I can go on and on. These hurting words are what wouldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve made us strong. For some it did but the rest are stringing along. Broken. Hurt beyond wonder. This is why hurtful words hit like thunder. Like when Mom yells and you sat down and cried. Imagine bitch, hoe, nigga inside you die. Imagine bitch, hoe, nigga some of them cry. Disrespected beyond measure and some of them try.

PAIN The pain I’m feeling is the realest I’ve felt. The blood is boiling in my chest. The air I breathe is tainted. The soul is being sucked out of me. The rain is flowing and with it my mind goes. My mind gone does nothing but haunt me. I’m scared of myself because I’m my own enemy.

TEN YEARS INTO THE FUTURE Flying cars That sounds like a treat Monkeys that talk Robots that deliver meat Three kids and a dog named Coop Chips that cost twenty dollars and water-flavored soup A ramp into the ocean A plane into space All mixed babies Since everyone forgot about race

CHERRY

THE LAST TIME I LIE

The last time I lie I let so many people down The last time I lie My whole world was shut down The last time I lie I let myself down The last time I lie I had committed a crime The last time I lie My pride was let down The last time I lie I lost myself The last time I lie I lost my soul The last time I lie Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m stuck in the system where All you could do is lie. Now I wish that I would have spoke The truth. Now all I can do is Lie and it wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be my last time.

THE BIG BLUE SEA My life at this moment feels like a sunken submarine. I feel lost in the Big Blue Sea in this submarine. I’m this submarine that no one sees. Just here all alone, please someone come along and find me. My hope at this point is drowning to the end. When will I come up to the surface again? I’m surrounded by darkness and coldness, damn this sucks to be alone. I always dream of being in the sea but not as a sunken submarine. Where no one knows or even cares to show that I’m a sunken submarine lost in the Big Blue Sea. *

I’m so pale at this point cause I’m sick of this place. I’ve hit a rock in my life where all I can do is point a finger at myself. I’m walking up and down this hill. But never lost my pride. I kiss my kids and my life goodbye. Just for a short time I sigh. As the rain falls down and I dream of having a steak. Soon I will parade down these halls like I have not lost. I hear the bell when it goes off. To my surprise I see my kids holding a white and purple cake. Then I woke up and I was still locked up. It was all a dream. Now I feel like a sunken submarine.

ME AND MY KIDS Let me tell you, kids My life has been no walk in the park. Sometimes I was left alone in the dark The darkness of the world. My life was not a pearl— I was left to struggle In this cold cold world. I’ve gone through ups and downs While the world still moved around. Just know this, kids After the darkness fades there Will always be sunshine that comes down. But the sun is hot, so never be put in A spot where you will be lost in the dark. It took me half of my life to follow the light, so I can make my life fit just right. To all my kids I’m just telling you Be like the moon where you can see the two. Just know life is not what it seems If you living in a dream. Life has been no walk In the park.

CHIVONA H.

THE LOVE OF WATER Water is the best thing God created. You can wash with it, clean with it, cook with it. What a miserable world it would be if we didn’t have water or water didn’t exist. I love water; I consider myself and my children water babies. Well let me give you an example how water can brighten up your life. Summer scalding hot temperatures, beaches, pools, and water parks and water ice trays, popsicles, and slushies, cooling off with a popped fire hydrant, playing water games with the ghetto children—so much fun. In the winter time a long hot bath or a kettle filled with water to supply all your needs like making hot beverages and a nice bowl of cheesy grits, something to keep you nice and warm to go out and conquer the day on a fully happy stomach and warm soul and spirit. Water water, I love you, need you, miss you, and long for you water, water, water, I love you.

KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED I keep my fingers crossed always, like for instance, when you’re incarcerated you don’t know what will happen in your life, going back and forth to court, sometimes not even going in front of a judge. When you do go upstairs to court not knowing what the judge is going to say to you, keep your fingers crossed. When you have to go to trial and they come back with a verdict, keep your fingers crossed. When you’re waiting for a medical exam result you don’t know how to feel or think, keep your fingers crossed. When you haven’t heard from someone in a while you keep your fingers crossed that the person is okay. Or when you get a call that someone or something is not doing well, like a car accident, a shooting, getting hit by a car, keep your fingers crossed. You have to live by keeping your fingers crossed. Life is a gamble. Keep your fingers crossed and be smart and be on the Gwinning Team in the words of DJ Self from the Radio Station Power 105.1.

CEE

TIME GOES BY Not fast enough in a place where people pretend to be tough. Just my luck Imma bout the opposite, doing positive but they trying to stop the kid, lock me in a box, break me. They forget I’m Cee. The street done raised me, my lord and family done made me, so they can’t take me, erase me, cause I’m forever Cee. Strength is me, my mind is inevitably incredibly never ending. See positivity is for now on gonna be forever me.

KITCHEN SCENE Stop, wait, what’s that on your plate? Let me taste before this dinner takes place. Things must be beautiful but nothing’s as beautiful as your beauty that’s in between when I taste from your delicate plate and the beauty that shines when our tongues intertwine and I hit it from behind, then rewind and do it one more time with different kitchen scenes in mind.

WONDERFUL WORLD Wonderful world of ours is slowly being devoured. All life is being treated defeated by us ourselves humans doing damage to humans. Natural resources greedily wasted contradiction amongst us all who’s rolling the ball, who’s controlling us all through manipulation of thoughts. These thoughts, your thoughts are not yours at all, information premeditated thoughts given through sight and sound like a hypnotist, you’re being hypnotized can’t even open your eyes. Everything seen is confusion for the eyes’ sight is controlled, planned by the other guys. Higher power is knowledge devoured therefore I’m in control of this reality my children’s and family. I will be in tune with this universe, without a doubt we need to open our eyes cause this world is our house.

DEBORAH CLEARMAN COMPLAINT O body too short too thick too old How did you get this way so fast With a hip that hurts and feet hard to reach Where are the days so nimble and quick you slung yourself from leaf to limb and hung with glee head down knees up Where are the years you left behind the slow and the weak on your upward climb Who are the ones you would never betray What are the deeds you made your own O body my friend you’ve come this far it’s too late now to trade you in. 31

DEE-DEE WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO? I could hear my best friend, my daddy, bubbly laughter so clearly. It was as if he was sitting right next to me. I fought the urge to reach out for him. He was supposed to be here with me. Everything would have been much easier for me. It’s been a year and some change since he’s passed away, but the pain never went away and neither have the memories. I have never known what pain meant until the day he left me. I was 25 years old when my daddy died and it feels like it was just yesterday. I wish that he could at least have gotten a chance to see his grandkids grow up. He loved them all equally. I remember when I got pregnant with my daughter. He was mad but happy at the same time, cause his little girl was having a baby, but he loved her and his granddaughter. Boy he was so happy when she started walking. He couldn’t get her to stop following him through the house. Then I had my second child and she drove him crazy. They followed him everywhere. I couldn’t tell them nothing without him yelling at me. Then came my son and my father just had to leave me all alone. I just wish that God could bring him back to me cause the pain is unbearable. I cannot eat nor sleep.

I REMEMBER! I remembered vividly the day she died. I could have sworn I smelled the blood was still in the air. It felt all too familiar. There was a pain in my chest, a hurt too massive to ignore. I promised myself I wouldn’t lose it. I wasn’t in Brooklyn any more. Here I had to be strong as possible and stay focused. I was just so mad that I had to relive that day. It was August 2, 2012, when she was gunned down in front of me. We had just come from school and she went to go change her clothes so we could go out and chill. I came out the building when she was standing there with a gun pointed at her. She had fear all in her eyes. He told her to give him everything she got and she resisted and he shot her right between the eyes. My eyes watered as I seen her body drop on the stoop. I just wish that I had done something to stop her from dying but I couldn’t. And till today I still feel the pain and hurt that I can only imagine she felt that day. I only wish that God would’ve brought her back instead of taking her away.

ELAINA P.

STRUGGLING TO CHANGE Struggling to change from the dirty mange to shiny clean fame everyone expected Every step I try I try What’s the point when you’re only pushed back into the ground Back to the dirt and the grime Always stuck in the behind Bars in timed She’s bypassed the stop and rode right on to the shop 24 hours only valid with cash Steal your heart fast and the two bags that would mend her shy Only made her eyes roll inside Heart slowed She wanted to do better She wanted to be clever But the addict in her Never allowed her to be better

TRUMP In a world where currency runs currency where finance trumps love where a color can mean poor where a number restricts your time and a bill ruins the sector. Leave the perfection behind as long as the digits coincide the value of moral never amounted in stat. The morals amounted by our newest president only thought of with a spat. Slammed to the question is he really allowed succession. A name a choice a ballot always thought twice. Reject him as the barge of his foot We reject. Because as a nation we can commonly elect the fear the morality of the name stands trump. Fold in only his sadistâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hands.

ELIZABETH SHEELEY

LEAVE ME BE! I wish I may I wish I might If only they could see things from my sight The way I struggle so hard day in and even at night Why can’t my idea of fun be right? Bills paid, child fed, house clean, kitchen full of groceries But when I do wrong I’m beat in the head like a piece of poultry. To me as long as Savannah’s with her nana Why can’t I go and get some banana? A couple nights of fun never hurt anyone! As long as me and my kid are happy and well The rest of you can kiss my ass and go to hell. Excuse my French you little wench I’m doing something right, didn’t wake up on a picnic bench.

GREY

I WISH I HAD FORGOTTEN I wish I had forgotten the taste of peach fuzz that lingers after pulling away from a kiss or the sagging, aching mattress Kate didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t bother taking I wish I had let go of your words little slithering promises that croaked like honest lies and the way you eyed me from the reflection of the bathroom mirror that could always make me beautiful I wish there was more time in every day I lived with you that nothing ever ended that the ache could be rescinded my heart would come back mended and I never let you go But laughter is as close to tears as I am willing to be So I wish I had forgotten to recall your memory.

THE DAWN TOUCHED MY TOES I The dawn touched my toes, whispering its charms, peeling off my ecstasies, to coat the infant skies. II You and I danced to the shrillness of Lennon and Ono in the kitchen on Tuesday, in nothing but socks and the blush of my love that kissed our cheeks and noses. III I forgave you for loving me but not for loving me last. IV In the fall, I sat on the fire escape with little hands and feet, smoking, and repeated your name like a spell to conjure you into my arms.

V You never came. VI I cannot remember the crook of your nose the length of your spine the turn of your smile but I remember your kiss and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hard to forget.

BULLETS BLUES OR WHY I NEVER SHOOT AT MOVING TARGETS

We fear of the man with a Colt in his hand with a sneer for a smile and a lay of the land. We struggle for sleep and a nervousness keep as we pray to a god that we donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t understand. We fear of the man with a pen in his heart that the demons relinquished and angels forgot and see that his eyes shine with threats of demise and all that he knows is the death he was taught. We fear of the man with a Colt in his hand with a license to kill and a line in the sand. We give him the power and pray for the hour heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s taken to rest by the forces that can.

JACQUELINE RODRIGUEZ I USED TO THNK I used to think that ice cream came from heaven, and honey came from bees, and candy came from the stars. This and everything I see is what heaven means to me, this is what I used to think. But now I know what it means!

OUTSIDE I am sitting here thinking, when would I go home? Looking out the window and dreaming of the outside, seeing the birds fly and seeing the sun shine, wondering my oh my, would I ever see the outside!

BRIDGE OVER WATER It’s a bridge over still waters while the ducks are swimming and the leaves are floating. I see a sense of peaceful being, the color of the leaves are so beautiful—yellow, red, green, orange. That’s what matters, what nature has to offer, the beauty of life in the wilderness! Ducks are hunting to catch their meal in nature. God provides everything for every creature. That’s why it’s nature, the mother of wilderness.

JAZZY FREE WRITE I just want to be free. Can you feel the free in me? Free to love, free to give free to be whomever I want to be. Free to smile, laugh or cry free to speak my mind and tell you why. Free, free to be, free to live a victorious life. Or just plain free to be me.

FINGER, FLOWERPOT, FISH Damn you, Gold fish. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe you died on me. What am I to do, all alone and by myself? No one to nurture or care about their health. Now I have to bury you, stick my finger in this nasty dirty flowerpot, so I can keep you near, at least within eye shot.

KAY

STALL You are not three, as far as I can see So why is it when you come to see me you not only pee But you choose to leave me wet and full Leaving me smelly and disgusting for the next bull. Can you simply push my button Or is it as the saying goes, glutton. You know what they say, “Can’t turn a hoe into a housewife.” So why should I think you can turn a pig into a butterfly?

KIM WILLIAMS

IN MY POCKET I wish I could put you in my pocket So I could take you with me. I’m leaving here soon. I’m happy to go but sad to leave you behind. If I could put you in my pocket I wouldn’t tell a soul. You’d be my best kept secret. The world would want to know Why I’m smiling, but only I would know That I’ve got you with me, right here in my pocket To share my freedom, the one we’ve waited for, We talked about, dreamt about, cried about, laughed about. Finally free, it’s you and me On our way to a new life, where should we go? It doesn’t matter, I’m not alone. I feel safe, you are with me Sharing the ups and downs, but always at peace Cause you’re right here in my pocket. When I feel down I’ll take you out to lift me up. When I’m happy you’ll be there to share my joy. When I’m sad, I know you’ll dry my tears. People will wonder who I’m talking to when I need an ear

But what theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll never know Is that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got you in my pocket My best kept secret, right here with me

LOVE Love is made up of so many things The memories of laughter The passion it brings when you fall in it Love is in the soul when mercy is shown And compassion is felt Forgiveness is love after hurt and pain Love is in the sorrow of loss Sharing wisdom spreads love like pollen on a windy day When I see him love is all I can think of As I close my eyes and live my truth I love myself with every breath Love can stop time, love can begin a life Love is made up of so many things But most of all love is made up of me.

TWENTY Twenty . . . It used to be just a number But now it’s all I can think about How many things can be done with twenty Age ten times twice Live a whole life, absolutely Imagine what I could do in twenty years Create a new life, possibly Reinvent myself, maybe Twenty . . . I was once carefree, young, and in love I had so many plans, some done I had so many dreams, most lived If twenty is just a number, why am I afraid It’s only a number, not true Twenty has so many meanings Lessons to learn, and share Words to speak, and hear Love to find, and receive Twenty . . . I’m on my way, I’m gonna soar though you Day by day With wings, a cape and the wind as my life Twenty . . . Get ready cause here I come. 47

LATRINA CROCKER

FREEDOM Freedom—I smell the air all around my outside view. No more prison, I’m free. Free as a bird that’s we. Let me out to fly high in the sky so people can see me be free again so that I can be me. My heart longs for freedom on the outside in reality to be me and in the world of today I can walk free as I want to be. I may be locked up in prison but I am not locked out of the kingdom of my lord Jesus Christ, my savior who made me born free. Freedom is free when you can eat a egg sandwich with cheese and bacon and have coffee on the side to drink with your meal without someone telling you to hurry up and be you because you are free you see.

MIME

A mime that do tricks makes your mind go wacky, ain’t that a bitch. A trick is a trick, but when a man looks at you and don’t say shit and water and other things come out of his tricky stick I would like to miss the man with all those silly tricks. Now you know that man that reminds me of the man that do those tricks is out of his mind. This is crazy, isn’t it? And if you cut out the light the man that look like a mime or clown will scare you out of your wits.

WHERE I’M GOING AND WHY Not knowing why things is the way they are in the world today. People are fighting, being mean for no reason. My heart and soul tries to quiet down from the unbelievable chaos I see around me in prison. People who is on a power trip, because within themselves are misery and their own thoughts. I feel like I am trapped in a glass world with people watching us with no emotions or having no sense of humanity or feeling, as Jesus Christ made them to be. A heart is a heart can’t pull it out, but when somebody steps on you like you are nothing it hurts you like an animal running through your blood vessel like a pink panther running straight at you full force. Trying to keep my sanity and stay sane within my brain. God bless those who don’t know Jesus Christ.

MOVEMENT TIME OF THE ESSENCES Movement of time, essence of realities of life in society that brings the mind to be overwhelmed in the world today. Time: tick tock, my heart ticks every minute like a clock. Movement—my mind moves like the Niagara Falls that can’t be stopped. Beautiful white water running out of the rocks and over them reminding me of my intelligence. Thoughts that Jesus Christ had made me like a new-born infant first taking a photo of the new society, coming out of my mother’s wonderful womb, you assume being born close to noon. Time is an essence, living in the present and the past with laughter, things being as there are so far in society Don’t want to catch no anxiety in society because living in today’s moment of time, essence of realities of life brings me in society overwhelmed in my mind. Oh know my time, in heart tick tock like a clock, a cause I just want to relax. That’s that.

Eggs and bacon toast and jelly coffee on the side. Piece of chocolate cake. That sounds really great. While I am enjoying my essence to movementâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;of time, tick tock my mind is racing like a clock. I must rest now before my heart in time runs out with my thoughts. Mrs. Crocker thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s me of course. This is the end, my friend, who moves like an ocean and a blue deep sea with no end because time never ends.

NADINE P.

BRAIDS AND SHADES Fatima, Fatou. Oh how I miss you and my edges as I click clop my wedges down to your shop. Knowing in my mind my money is going to drop. Words of patwa op* my mom excited to tip your jar. I can’t lie, yes in those days of micro braids I was a star, yes in junior high school. Now I’m an adult. Is there something that can help, oh yeah, Rogaine for women. Man I’m just kidding. Those days were the best, native 18 karat gold jewelry and a dude to watch while you’re chilling of Africa land of our holmes. Baked fish and foufou had you feeling new new. Now it’s just Avesela and a damn corner store or a deli with Terell and Shelly. Bring back my dayz when the food filled my belly and Fatou did that hair of Shelly’s.

*op means up in Jamaican Patois

THOUGHTS OF THE TIMES The time of the free brothers and sisters in every mind set outside of unjust lock down. Tough and stronger after being chained down. Relaxation and play time as we chill and unwind. Faces of humble beauties before or after slavery. Why couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t they just wave to me instead of chains to me or maybe sing with me instead of whips to bleed. Well itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s plain to see the happiness, joy and bravery. As this picture is you and me or our ancestor with faces of survivors. To me it seems, #Black lives matter.

NICOLE SMITH WHY MOMMA WHY Momma why did you kill Why did you steal the life from that man Why did you leave me with scars that stay open and constantly bleed and why did you go away and leave me in quicksand to drown in your burdens Why momma why.

I HAVE THREE I have three teenage girls all with long tresses and curls One hates me, one loves me, one doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even know me. I smoke drugs, wear dirty Uggs and have my kids stolen away from me. Living in a society of no sobriety trying to be somebody, listening to my face go boom when my oldest hits it with a broom. Oh God how Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m filled with gloom but still I love her, need her, want her in my life as my child not as a parasite.

LIVING IN HELL Living in hell is like smoking on a empty pipe, living in hell is like having a child and no baby wipes. Living in hell is like having a man who blacks ya eye. Living in hell is having a man who lie. Living in hell is like sniffing on a hot bag of dope. Living in hell is just living with no hope. So I urge you to get out of living in hell.

ONYX CARTER

UNTITLED Blank paper. What words shall I write? I want whatever I say to blow everyone’s imaginary sight. Barrel to your brain and my pencil cocks back. Boom! Would have been bright rainbows but that now comes after the rain. The rain is now, it’s an epic downpour. Hurricane Depression in full effect. 50 shades of grey in the worst way. No love here. Your personality has to pay. Your rainbow shackled in chains instead of saved by a life jacket. Confused on which way to turn, feel like either way you run your mind is in an urn. Rainbow don’t leave please . . . God stay with me.

WASTED TIME So much drugs and alcohol in my system, so many memories, damn I miss them. So much potential before I got here hoping when I get out I’ll see clear. I yearn for the good ol’ days when bills wasn’t something I had to pay. Too much time wasted on too much time wasted. My pride and insecurities caused my love to be lost. Never wanted to experience that cost. Things that were easy are now hard to find. Miss my ol’ thang, now it seem like love a crime. No knowledge of my release. Missing the city streets. Feel like I step toward the top then getting pushed back off the cliff.

SELVAGGIA PIZZETTI

TO MY CHILDREN Forgive me because I wasn’t strong enough. Forgive me when I didn’t fight too hard. Forgive me when I didn’t hear you crying. Forgive me if sometimes I wanted to die. Forgive for every call I missed. Forgive me for every snarky diss. Forgive me when I wasn’t here to catch your fall. Forgive me when I wasn’t there at all. Forgive me when I didn’t pay attention. Forgive me when I misunderstood your intentions. Forgive me for every time I failed you. Forgive me for every word I hurt you with. Forgive me for never being your imaginary mother. But please know that my love for you will last forever.

WHERE I’M FROM Where I’m from, people look straight at your eyes when they say “Hi.” Where I’m from, children’s screams are for joy not fear. Where I’m from, arms are extended to welcome you, not to hurt you. Where I’m from, there’s always an extra seat at the table waiting for you to join, even if the food isn’t enough. Where I’m from, people are grateful for what they have, and hopeful for what they have not. Where I’m from, people find strength in their suffering and peace in their tragedies. Where I’m from, people can still spare a smile for you after shedding all their tears. Where I’m from, you’ll always feel welcome because nobody will ever ask you where you are from. 60

THE SOUND OF SILENCE The sound of silence is what I’m scared of most. The silence of my voice, the silence of my thoughts. The silence of my heart when I don’t feel loved, The silence of my soul when I feel lost. The silence of my hands when I can’t reach out to others, The silence of my brain when everything around me bothers. The silence of my frustration when I can’t scream my anger. The silence of my eyes when the only thing I see is danger. But the silence that scares me the most Is when you shut down to me and make me feel at loss. Please forgive me when I couldn’t scream, And when my silence failed you and your dreams.

TAMIKA POWELL

AMY Now meet Amy. It’s a shame we can’t protect her. She’s thirteen but well-developed, so her dad sexed her. He molested her body as well as her mind. Came to find the same shit’s been going on since she was nine. She heard a car pull off, mom’s gone to work. So she raised up her skirt and prepared for the worst. Her dad burst in without any clothes on smiling, the pain of the penis makes it hard to stay silent. Now the same cum that made her is soaking in the cupboards, and her dad keeps on telling her he does it cause he loves her. So she puts on a front and smile knowing that she feels bad. It’s hard to accept abuse coming from her real dad. But she’s scarred for life, could’ve been somebody’s wife. Instead of teddy bears now she’s sleeping with a knife. Full of fright, hoping if she wakes the nightmare will be over. She’s scared to death of her dad, petrified by what he told her. “If you ever tell our secret you and your mom’s dying, then I’ll turn the gun on me and take my life and I ain’t lying.” So for months it went on, I’m talking about the same segment “Dad fucking Amy,” but now Amy’s pregnant. It’s too much to bear, so in the middle of the night, to save the life of her mom, Amy took her own life. Now Amy’s got a funeral and her mom’s wondering why, such an innocent kid such as her Amy had to die. But as time went on it seems dad never changed, now at her little sister he was starting to look strange. He 62

would often do and say certain things he wasn’t supposed to, like since the death of Amy you and me we gotta be closer. Now my black is getting caught up in the trap, and the phrase for the day is come and sit on daddy’s lap. Now he’s fondling and touching me. I’m steady yelling stop it, that’s when grandma burst in, pulled out the 4-5th* and cocked it. Get your hands up off my grandbaby is what she told him as she cried, found the truth up in a letter Amy left before she died. She didn’t want to believe but caught her son red-handed. It don’t make sense don’t even try to understand. Grandma closed her eyes and pulled the trigger on the steel, didn’t really mean to kill but she did. Only if you can feel what we felt. My sister was down on her knees begging daddy please, please. Now that daddy’s dead and gone, daddy tried the same old song. Took my black ass, started playing with my mind. It’s a shame but grandma came and put an end to all those Goddamn games.

*4-5th is urban slang for .45 caliber handgun

WHITNEY SIMMONS A QUIET PLACE A place for me to go is to talk to my husband, my dearest friend, one who will keep my secrets till the end. I know itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just his ashes but time do I will pass this. My real love charm I can turn to and feel no harm. I give him my undivided attention even during a fire alarm. A love to hold forever, hoping one day we will be back together in the arms of the Lord, protected like a sword never to be broken. I know his love was chosen till this day dead and gone Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m still open. Ashes it is to you, love of a lifetime to me.

I USED TO THINK I used to think that I was nothing. Look at me today. I’m something like I never knew before . . . I used to think that I wasn’t a believer. Today through God all things are possible. I used to think I was a drughead. But today I believe I was a hurt street pharmacist. I used to think my daughter wasn’t gonna love me, but today she love me more than me . . . I used to hold my head low. Now I can hold it up even when no one is looking, even when God can’t be found. In all pain I used to think.

ZARAH E. COOMBS A MOTHER IN MOURNING Dedicated to Zamair Ezekial Coombs, my beloved son Thinking of you my heart aches I can’t stop crying remembering our last moments. Joy is just a thing now no longer a feeling I’m familiar with. Missing you, I drown in deep pain. I see your smile and I can’t help but cry for the rising sun has lost its color everything beautiful has lost its beauty. The sun is no longer brilliant for my baby is no longer here. I mourn at every new day and will mourn till I expire. I reach out my hand to touch him but his vivid image disappears. I hear his laughter and tiny voice I must be losing it

but when I look he isn’t there. My mind is deceitful. My heart is treacherous it’s true. How else do I see and hear the things untrue? There is a load weighing in on my heart breathing is becoming a chore I don’t know how much I can bear. God, I beg you let me skip this life process. Don’t wake me tomorrow wake me when you have come and my baby is— is embedded and embraced into my bosom. Mommy loves you more and you know it.

THERE ONCE WAS A CHANCE There was once a chance I didn’t take a decision I didn’t make. Things happened so quickly it was just all a blur leaving no traces behind just a huge black hole . . . Blank— logged in a memory bank. There was once a chance I didn’t take one that determined our fate. God please for goodness sake show us mercy as we repent. There was once a chance I didn’t take of standing firm in my beliefs and spiritual faith God please show me mercy for I need another chance so I can take.

POVERTY Poverty. That thing everyone knows of but not everyone knows. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s such a huge epidemic the quagmire of the slums of the ghetto. People internationally practically begging for help. No one hears and those that do suddenly become blind, deaf, and mute. Poverty that thing where heads hang low noses turned up danger lurks and idling youth meddles searching for a future but coming short and finding nothing more than trouble. Poverty that thing that families hide

and pretend to be fine as struggles strangle and tear them apart making those bad habits cheap and easy and the healthy things expensive and hard to reach. Working one jobs, two jobs, three but still not enough leaving children neglected trying to provide for them. Children leaving parents not seeing how hard you worked for them. Poverty that thing everyone knows of but not everyone knows.

A CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

â?&#x2013; As a small, grassroots organization, NY Writers Coalition relies on the generous support of those dedicated to getting the voices of those who have been silenced heard. Many thanks go to our foundation, government, and corporate supporters, without whom this writing community and publication would not exist: Allianz GI, Amazon.com, Cowan Slavin Foundation, Impact Investing Foundation, the Kalliopeia Foundation, Meringoff Family Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs, Two West Foundation, and the offices of New York City Council Members Laurie Cumbo and Corey Johnson. NYWC programming is also made possible by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature. We rely heavily on the support from individual NYWC members and attendees of our annual Write-AThon. In addition, members of our Board of Directors have kept this vital, rewarding work going year after year: Louise Crawford, Timothy Ballenger, Tamiko Beyer, Atiba Edwards, Marian Fontana, Ben Groom, Susan Karwoska, Sophie McManus, Alexis Nixon, and NYWC Founder and Executive Director Aaron Zimmerman. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d also like to thank NYWC Program Director, Timothy DuWhite. We would like to thank the many people in the New York City Department of Correction who have given 72

their support to this workshop over the years: Deputy Commissioner of Adult Programs and Community Partnerships James Walsh, Deputy Commissioner Michael Tausek, Program Coordinator Ms. Holdman, and all of the officers and civilians of the DOC who have made this workshop possible. Finally, we can't express enough gratitude to the dedicated contributors and workshop members at Rosieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, and to Deborah Clearman, our NYWC workshop leader, who has been instrumental in making this book happen. To learn more and find out about how you can sponsor a NYWC publication or program, please contact INFO@NYWRITERSCOALITION.ORG or call (718) 398-2883.

ABOUT N Y W RITERS COALITION NY Writers Coalition (NYWC) is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that creates opportunities for formerly voiceless members of society to be heard through the art of writing. One of the largest community-based writing organizations in the country, we provide free, unique, and powerful creative writing workshops throughout New York City for people from groups that have been historically deprived of voice in our society, including at-risk and disconnected youth, LGBTQ communities, homeless and formerly homeless persons, those who are incarcerated or formerly incarcerated, war veterans, people living with disabilities, cancer, and other major illnesses, immigrants, seniors, and many more.

For more information about NYWC programs and NY Writers Coalition Press publications visit WWW. NYWRITERSCOALITION. ORG

NY Writers Coalition Press is proud to present CAN YOU FEEL THE FREE IN ME: WRITING FROM RIKERS ISLAND, a collection of poetry and prose written in NY Writers Coalition workshops for women at the Rose M. Singer Center on Rikers Island. For more information about NYWC creative writing programs and press publications, visit WWW.NYWRITERSCOALITION.ORG.