Fortunately, the dream skipped the beginning – getting them to trust me, getting them to write. They had bought into the Poetry for Prisoners program and were writing away, filling notebook after notebook. The prison was co-ed – this is how I knew it was a dream.
One woman had trouble with limericks. She liked using the aabba format, but they weren’t funny and read them aloud as 12534. Her poems made more sense that way, but they were written on paper in the correct format. Then they created poetry posters and laminated them on a machine they had built.