Mery Smith's tumultuous journey to the title Spokane Poet Laureate included flunking out of college due to alcoholism and navigating life as a single parent. Bruce Asper was a "craven capitalist" working in private equity in Beverly Hills when he was told his drug problem and arrogance would kill him.
In 2009, Smith and Asper both got sober. Though neither knew the other until 16 years later, their paths crossed in Spokane along with their passions for words and helping others. The two found out they had a shared interest in running writing workshops at Airway Heights Corrections Center.
Asper, the student director of Eastern Washington University's Writers in the Community program, wanted to resume the inmate writing workshops the group had held at the state prison.
"Writing is a really selfish practice," Asper says. "It's very insular. So, for the last year or two, [Writers in the Community] has dedicated itself to underserved communities."
For Smith, the workshops have been a priority ever since she was named Spokane Poet Laureate. Her enthusiasm for the project is personal: Both of her brothers had been incarcerated.
Now, Asper and Smith are making the poetry workshops a reality. The first one is set for June 6, though it hasn't come without bumps in the road.
"My volunteer application was denied," Smith says. "Because my brother was there in 2019. I thought that would be a positive thing, given I've already gone through the background check and I've done all the things necessary to be there, but they believe it could potentially create conflict if somebody knew me or knew my brother from his time here."
Smith cites her brother as a huge inspiration in her journey, having sent her letters and poems up until he was released from prison. But shortly after his release, he died from a fentanyl overdose.
At least for now, Smith won't be able to teach the workshops in person, but she hopes to get her application approved for next year. In the meantime, she will send her syllabus to Asper, and he will conduct this summer's prison workshops alone.
The workshops will each be two hours long, with one hour being dedicated to fiction writing (Asper's specialty) and one hour to poetry.
"Bruce and I share this thing about sobriety obviously," Smith says. "And a big part, I think, in most people who are incarcerated, a common denominator is this idea of being unwell and the lifestyle that goes along with that. I want them to have the opportunity to do it differently," she says. "And using creative writing and poetry as ways to heal."
Having gone through treatment himself, Asper understands the impact workshops like this can have on incarcerated or recovering individuals.
"They want to talk about what they've been through," Asper says. "The classes are a space for self-expression."
Smith says that the workshops won't look dissimilar from other poetry programs she's held at area schools and libraries because she wants every class to be as accessible as possible.
Each workshop will begin with a free-writing portion, allowing each writer to simply get their thoughts out on paper. Then, a poem of Smith's choosing will be presented to the class, and each student will be asked to share their personal interpretation of the words.
Themes of hope, mental health and recovery will be woven through the curriculum.
"It's not a secret, but it's all about the messaging," Smith says. "How do we not give up? How do we heal? How do we take the crap, and with time, make it fertilizer? I want to give them entry points of using their own stories and words to create something healing."
"It's a matter of meeting people where they are rather than expecting them to come to you," Asper says. "I want to give them the tools they need to tell their stories in their own voices."
The workshops are slated to run for eight weeks this summer, with the goal of sustaining the program for as long as possible even after Asper graduates and Smith's tenure is up.
Even with Smith's volunteer application being denied, she says it was never a question of whether the workshops would happen or not, it was a matter of how they were going to go on despite the barrier they encountered.
"You cannot wait in life," she says. "Do not wait for someone to give you permission. Do not wait for someone to invite you. Do not wait for someone to tell you they think you have a good idea. You just need to keep running toward the things you love, find important, and the things you want to see made reality. I want them to know that whatever you know right now is enough. It's enough to make a beginning." ♦
