One Was Caged

       Seldom have I had a poem so unwilling to be girded with words as this one. It has been said that writing a book is like trying to wrestle an octopus into a mayonnaise jar, writing this was like trying to give birth to one. But, now that the labor pains are over, and my creation is not so appallingly ugly, I plan to either enjoy it or forget it.

      One Was Caged and One Was Free

From his cell, he heard her steps, light though those might be,

the jailer’s daughter, little Jen, barely past the age of ten

was bringing evening bread and tea.

One was caged and one was free.

He smiled at her with crooked teeth, folks called him Simple Ben,

in jail for thievery of balm he thought would ease his dying mom,

but fever took her in the end.

Then Ben was caged, but she was free.

“Are ya ailin’, missy Jen? Sit down, for pity’s sake.

For though it’s dark here in the jail, even by this light, you’re pale,

and I see how you shake.”

Though dark his cage, his heart was free.

Without a word, she bent to slide his meal beneath the bars.

When she straightened up again, he saw the welt upon her chin,

red where one had struck her hard.

While bound in rage, some fists are free.

“Father’s at his drink tonight.” whispered little Jen.

The jailer, in his house above, with wife and daughter he could love

chose the bottle over them.

While he was caged, they were not free.

Through the bars, Ben held her hand until her trembling ceased.

He sang a song his ma had sung, when folks were cruel and he was young,

that once had brought him peace.

Though he was caged, he wished her free.

“I’m glad to have you here with me.” she said to Ben, at last.

And strengthened by his simple love, left cell below for hers above,

in hope sleep held the jailer fast.

One was caged and one was free.