Fresh Blood

The Rincon workshops have taken a big hit. Men are being moved, and the unit is in transition to a medical, psychiatric, and geriatric yard. Men I have gotten to know over the years are gone, leaving a hole in the group that I have to fill with more leadership and discussion. New guys take the spots left by those now moved. The fresh energy is strong, though. The group has gone from a latino ex-gangbanger ethos to a black intellectual ex-gangster feel. The new men, like their predecessors, are serious about writing. I have to step it up, bring more of my A-Game to meet the doubts and suspicion I see in their eyes. This is a strange space, this opening to talk life, ideas, and experience. The first assignment is an inventory of their "boxes," the small containers of personal property allowed them, and then some reflection on the significance of those objects, why the men keep what they keep: the postcards, letters, photos, books, memorabilia, and the associations that go with them, the world that they suggest, the paths taken, or not. I have asked them to be fearless and vulnerable. What do those objects say about unfinished business, about longing, about mistakes or achievements? What do they say about the character of their owners? It's a challenge I should take myself. We'll see what they and I bring in. It's a beginning, another beginning. The Muses watch and listen; they wait for the opening, the fresh infusion.