Kites are letters (and other things I recently figured out by spending time with a variety of people, which is to say, people)

Each time I come home from teaching in prison, I wonder why I enjoy it so much. Is it that I love teaching? Or that I love talking about poetry so much that even in prison it's a good time? Maybe all of that, but mostly, when people talk about poetry, I feel like a grandma who's just baked molasses cookies.  And all the kids in the neighborhood come over and are like, really? Molasses?  You think I'll like this?  And then they're eating them and "mmmming" and want the recipe.  Then they go home and try to make them, and then they want you to taste their molasses cookies, and sometimes they taste BETTER than your granny cookies... I love teaching poetry.  I love grandmas and kids and molasses cookies. 

But teaching in prison is different somehow than other teaching of poetry. The guys who take the poetry class in prison realize they will learn as much from one another as they will from us. The community is so energetic and encouraging and thoughtful...  Yeah.  I like it.  I like the deer in the parking lot, too.  (Last night, I thought I saw a badger! But it was a cat. Wishful thinking, I guess.)

Anyway, to the point-- yesterday we talked about epistolary poems and many of their poems referenced "kites."  At first, I was thinking "Hey, cool metaphor."  Then, when it came up again, I was like, "Hey... kites? That's what that last guy said!"  I asked about it, and it turns out kites are prison lingo for letters.  Who knew? (Well, I'm sure lots of people did.)  I also learned about moon time and (not first-hand) how acid is ingested with sugar cubes (the drug kind, not just any garden variety).  All-in-all, an eventful week. 

Wait. It's Tuesday?  On to Wednesday! (Insert picture of me running with a flag into Wednesday.)  

(In other news, my last day of my new job is on Friday, and my new-new job will start on Monday.  Eek! So much change, so little time!)