You and I were not friends, Jamie,
But friendly acquaintances? Sure.
You were in my English classes,
For as long as your ADHD could endure.

A great ambassador for my classes,
Getting others to join and learn.
But as for you, Jamie, you couldn’t slow down.
Your mind always raced, always burned.

Your passion was your Native past;
I gladly shared all the info I had.
But in the end, it could not save you,
Your demons stayed until the last.

We remember your enthusiasm, energy, and smiles,
But if we are upset for now–
You OD’d so soon after release;
We’d hoped you’d make it many more miles.

Triumphs here are measured in inches, not feet,
For people incarcerated or out on the street.
To rise up above takes commitment and grit,
With help from outsiders who don’t give a sh*t
About why you’re there–you are human, so they care.

And when you lose one you’ve helped, it hurts.

No matter their mistakes, their wrongs, or their sins, To love one another is where healing begins.

The rain drums steadily on the roof. Beyond the next wall, a virtual classroom instructor’s voice drones through the speakers like Charlie Brown’s teacher: “Wah, wah wah wah. Wah. Wah.” A door in the hallway rattles as it is opened, and then it bangs shut. Florescent lights above my head whine, pulsating with the pain behind my eyes.  The two-way radio crackles to life, a predictable disruption in this house of correction. I gaze around the room; beige plastic-molded chairs sit at tan wooden tables on a speckled tile floor, surrounded by off-white concrete block walls. Dreary hardly begins to describe it. Posters of nature scenes, the Bill of Rights, Branches of the U.S. Government, and other images make efforts to break through the drab discoloration, but the pasty clutter threatens to win the day. After having faded into the background, the rains pick up again, their crescendo and decrescendo toying with the listener, harkening to memories of cuddles with books, blankets, and hot chocolate.

I used to get along
with all my coworkers
It was my signature
but lately I've been angry
and
I've become
illegible

Sometimes I feel old
over the hill
worn out
ready to throw in the towel

Sometimes I feel young
just beginning life
not yet in my prime
raring to get going

Sometimes I don't feel at all
conscious of each breath
hearing the most inaudible sounds of silence
unsure what to do next

Where I am today
I may not be tomorrow
Where I am tomorrow
I may not be next week

The ebbs and flows of life
and emotion
leave
me
paralyzed

Sometimes

We are locked inside a prison
Forced away from light of day
The only windows for our vision
Show us those on life's hard way.

Pithy memes make light of life
bringing chuckles to the heart
But they do not break the doldrums
of the soul oft broken 'part.

Concrete walls and off-white paint
trap us in now seemingly more than ever.
Masked for Covid we feel faint
From these conditions we long to sever.

So up go the posters of trees, sun, and flowers
easing our minds from stresses and pain
Artificial beauty to escape the long hours
before our senses go down the drain.