In 1933 the prison door swung wide and
Freedom settled on me like afternoon dust.
Twenty years
Twenty dollars
Evening coming on and
Twenty miles to town
Barefoot
No shoes big enough for my big ole feet
New freedom suit too tight, too short
An old colored gent in a half-dead Ford
gave me a ride to town and
We carried a new bottle of Jack Daniels
down to the riverbank and
The sun hung gold across the water
You out for good?
Out for damn good
All my days are mine now
and I laughed the sun
down out of the sky.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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