short timer leaning
right shoulder pressed gently against
drab concrete walls
old mustard yellow
brink red tile underfoot
and 15 years lost
20 days and a wake up
Rip Van Winkle moment
I can never understand—
smiling up at me
expressing thankfulness for incarceration
stating plainly
it was the only thing that could have saved his life
and now, life begins again
fresh start, with baggage
that I could never carry—
isolated from peer groups forced to stay in hell
a quiet calm fills soft blue eyes
knowingly, he retreats to lonely meals
and the occasional press against his ethical stand
as those left behind despise those
on the edge of freedom
freedom with conditional and mandatory reporting –
15 years boiled down to 19 days
excitement and wonder
like a child during holiday celebrations
there is no way to express
the technology that will seem confrontational
no way to warn
madness in the streets and no lighthouses on the beaches
scared and alone, one step
then another
there is really no mystery
why these folks find themselves
back at the only home they ever really know
or knew –