Prison Potluck
by Linda Searby

Six men, living in bondage
but longing for community; recalling what it feels like
to belong around a table, sharing a good hot meal,
prepared by loving hands.

The feast this time? A potluck of resourcefulness:
Ramen “soups,” the staple of life for them,
beef stew packets – “heat and eat” from the commissary,
an onion that went missing from the kitchen,
offerings of salty and sweet morsels,
guarded in metal lockers for such a time as this.

They all knew it wasn’t about the food.
It was belonging. Sharing life. Re-creating moments of joy,
snippets of normal in an abnormal world.
Softened hearts on steel benches,
stories with laughter to cover the pain
that no potluck can erase.

Yet, one at that table recalls a tune sung in church–
How long ago?
“We will feast in the house of Zion,
We will sing with our hearts restored.
He has done great things, we will say together:
We will feast, and weep no more.”

And softly, quietly, HOPE humbly joins them
at the table.



Editor’s note: the poet is the mother of one of the incarcerated men who organized this gathering.



 

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