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"Through The Wire" by Charlotte Hill O'Neal after a visit with Albert Woodfox and Herman Wallace

By Real Cost of Prisons Project (The Sentencing Project)

This poem was written in March 2008, after a first time visit to Brother Albert Woodfox and Brother Herman Wallace, political prisoners who have been locked down unjustly for 40 years in Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana, 36 of those years spent in solitary confinement. This poem is dedicated to them, their strength and perseverance and their FREEDOM! Through the Wire by Charlotte Hill O?Neal I heard the tambourine tinkle of the shackles before my eyes met their faces, one with the cool calm demeanor of Malcolm the other, with the bob and weave energy of Ali I was astonished by their ram rod stature as they crouched with backs to that slit in the doorway, in easy grace and Zen composure in a dance like, practiced motion, that served for easier release of the cold steel handcuffs binding them or was that steel hot and fiery, powering and releasing electrified surges of Shango energy to pumped up cut muscles and solar powered minds and to fingers leaving sweat trails of wisdom on dog eared law books, searching for ?that? that others might have missed And their strength shone through the heavy mesh wire separating us Wire that achieved the exact opposite of intended purpose failing to dim the brilliance of their spirits as they stood there, let loose from their bonds, tall and relaxed and smiling in greeting that changed that tiny walled space of confinement into an Airy Room a Living Room a Sitting Room a Front Room (or whatever you like to call it), filled with light and ferns and fragrant incense and herb smoke and crowded book shelves and internet pings and soft jazz purring and wet splashes of laughter out by the pool (with its Panther tiled bottom) The prison doors seemed open and wide and surely, I felt, at any moment wooden trays full of hot tea and fresh brewed coffee or maybe mango juice with crushed ice and mint leaves, would appear, to refresh our palates and dampen the light sweat on our fingertips that touched and scraped at the wire And meanwhile, we stumble and bump into each others words and enjoyment of the four-way conversation, nicking and flecking and cutting right through years of ?not knowing? each other but ?knowing? still and acknowledging and making real that notion that a Panther meets no stranger down paths of shared existence, only brother-sister-comrades? and Universe, and a unique sameness under it all And the wire opens like soft paper flower petals bright with visions of dusty roads and crackling cornfield sounds and migrating animal feet and parting clouds off Kilimanjaro that we (Pete and me), see with our eyes through their dreams through our eyes, visions that have been kept jarred up tightly, for years And they (Herman and Albert), screw the lid off slowly? finally?themselves? At last catching the sharp pungent aroma of three decades of bottled up dreams and tamped down tears and plumped up hope and wild wet laughter, finally released with a rocket engine WHOOSHHHHH!! of FREEDOM flying right out that heavy metal wire And the wire becomes a curtain woven of hand corded soft fleece snagging and unraveling slowly? carefully? untangling nightmares of confinement unraveling? undoing? and it moves lightly (that curtain) and sways and shivers under the force of their dreams of FREEDOM realized? at last Charlotte O'Neal is a poet, artist, musician, community activist and co-founder of the United Afrian Alliance Community Center...continue to full post

Full post as published by The Real Cost of Prisons Weblog on March 23, 2008 (boomark / email).