Meditation Classes At the County Jail

by Elizabeth P. Glixman

Teach me to meditate white man
suit tie black leather jacket
clear eyes and two car garage
Black eyed peas are cooking
I was born in Dixie
along with white misconceptions about the color purple
yellow creamed corn and the crunch of okra


Was he good
does she jiggle like Beyonce that hooker on Main Street
Idiocy I say you can't teach that white man
any important thing
unless he becomes at least cocoa color or mud or stops watching Bill Cosby
Housing projects are not things you make in school
I look at the garbage
I don't need crayons pencils teachers and glue to do this
You know what I'm saying
In the hallway bricks crumble
ice cold sometimes a smell flows
through rotted eggs and peels

I dream in jail
dearly beloved gather together my sons
everyone wants to fly above the walls
can't climb the walls
pinched in our crotches deflated
no more contact visits to grab the ice
I am dying
Let me go


This jail is transcendent enough
superintendent
Guys transcend gender and color
Guards beat people until nothing is left but dust
Who needs to know silence
It is so quiet in here I can hear my three year old ask for more apple juice
the bottle is empty for the month



Meditation program rehabilitation
Mr. Man dawg Om Mane Padme what the
I need ice good as gold to make me touch the crystal cathedral and
make my balls shake in awe
make my wife rumble and whisper to me
That's all the peace I need
and a case of apple juice for my kid
so he doesn't cry at night


*blog: http://elizabeth-inthemoment.blogspot.com/