THE VISIT. Fall 2003
Writing from Bezazian, Hall, Humboldt Park, and Rogers Park Branch Libraries; Deborah's
Place and Inspiration Cafe

This brand-new issue of JOT features:

• Photography by John Brooks, Annie Knepler,Jennifer Moran, José Rojas
• Introduction by poet and Chicago State University Professor Kelly Norman Ellis
• And writing from over 60 JOT writers

Read work from the magazine! For more information on how to receive a copy of the magazine for $10 or to receive a year of JOT for $25, please call the NWA office at (773) 684-2742

THE VISIT
Diane Davies

It is so far away; the long hot drive to
get out there is just the beginning,
and it takes a long time, which is
what they want because they figure
we won’t come at all.

Once I finally arrive, I know the drill
all too well.

I cannot take anything inside except
my ID and my car keys. (I’m surprised
I can take those in.)

After waiting and waiting, I finally
get up to the front of the line. After
I am "approved" I go to another
line where I wait to be searched.
Here I remove my shoes and socks
and I get patted down by one of the
staff. I know not to wear a bra any-more,
since I have to lift it up (just
in case I’m hiding something in
there), but sometimes I forget and
wear one, which sets the alarm off.
(I guess it is the underwire.) I sign
in and receive my "visitor pass."

When it is finally time to go in, I put
my money in a machine. The money
goes on my card that goes into the
snack machines. From these machines
I can choose pop, chips, candy, gum,
and sometimes sandwiches and sweet
rolls or bagels, if those machines are
working properly and fully stocked.
When I get escorted in I am told
where to sit, how close to sit, and
then I am watched as we finally see
each other and talk.

"Finally, hello, I am so glad to see
you. How are you? They turned
someone away out there for some
bunk, man, after all that traveling to
get here, too. I feel sorry for them."

I’m happy because I’m finally here—
in this moment—a moment that
I’ve been anticipating since the last
time I was here. I wish time could
s-t-o-p for a few days, but of course
it doesn’t, and before we know it, it
is time to leave.

We are allowed to hug and kiss each
other briefly before being separated.
"I’ll write you and see you next
time. It won’t be long now."

After saying our goodbyes we get
escorted to another area where we
have to wait once again for someone
to come to escort us out. We then
turn in our visitor passes and sign out.
It is time for the long drive back
home to Chicago from the Illinois
Department of Corrections.

RESTLESS
Michael Bowie

Restless outside
The door
Restless on the inside
Wanting more
Don’t know what part
Is really safe
How much will leave
Without a trace
Not sure of
The yes or no
If I wait
Will I know
There is something missing
That cannot hide
Deeper than
What it is
In what resides
Now that the door
Is open
It’s only halfway
The part unseen
Is all I wanted anyway
Restless outside my door
Restless on the inside
Wanting more
Restless
Trying to break free
Restless
I guess that’s me

ROBIN AND HIS GOAT
Mary R. Moore

My youngest brother Robin was about seven years old when he saw the goats on a neighbor farmer’s farm. He came home begging Mama to buy him a goat from our neighbor, Mr. Patterson. “You can get the goat, but you are the one who will have to take care if it, as I have no time for any more animals on this farm,” said Mama. Robin saw Mr. Patterson the next day and asked what he would have to pay for the goat. Mr. Patterson gave him a price of 50cents. Robin had a few pennies in his penny bank and asked Fred, our older brother, if he could give him a few more pennies so he would have enough money to complete his deal.

Robin came home with a broad smile on his face, leading the goat by a rope. He put the goat in a high-fenced area near the garden. First, the goat leapt over the fence, and with the garden so close by he feasted on some of Mama’s choice cabbage plants. Then he strolled over to the cornfield where Fred was planting corn. Fred had reached the far end of the corn rows when he looked back and saw that his labor was in vain as the goat was picking up each grain of corn and eating it. Fred chased the goat and tried to catch it, but in his act of determination he pulled off one of the goat’s horns. So we had a one horned goat. The goat disliked the chickens. It chased them and butted into the flock with his one horn.

We had a back porch and often left the back door unlocked and open to let fresh air pass through the hooked screen door. The hooked screen door was no problem for the goat as he learned how to unhook the screen and enter the house. One day I came into the house from working in thefields and found the goat had been sleeping in my bed. As I entered the room, the goat was standing in front of a large mirror with his one horn all set to butt at his own reflection.

By this time Mama had sized up the situation and told Robin he would have to return the goat to Mr. Patterson and explain to him the problems the goat had created. Mr. Patterson had a good laugh, but returned Robin’s 50 cents. With no goat there was a lot more rest and peace in the family.

© 2003 Neighborhood Writing Alliance
All rights revert to the authors.