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Easter Letter from the Detention Center
An Easter Letter from the Detention Center
On the margin, with twin clouds
for cheekbones, a rainbow
is scrawled with such purpose
of color I can picture her
smile as tight as a garrote.
Desperate girl in a four by six cell.
Fumbling for a sense of innocence
in the shape of hearts she has drawn,
erased and drawn again.
Her hands have forgotten
the ease they once found
fluid as blue ink, writing
to inform me the judge
has ordered her to ninety days
in residential treatment.
Happy Easter Daddy. Tell the boys
how much I love them. I’m sorry
I’ll miss the little man’s birthday.
My daughter at fifteen is water.
On paper borders, she scrawls
her initials, as if she could stand
with both feet on this one small
possession inside her cell,
irrigating her claim
with the sweat of her
efforts to smile.
I don’t wear as much make-up now.
Dad. I’ve put on a few pounds. I’m almost
a trustee. In two days they will let me
work in the kitchen. I’m doing really well.
Come see me on Friday.
Outside, the sun
flirts dangerously with thick charcoal
smoke. Hickory and laughter
bubble over chicken. Jump-ropes
hang in the air like wind-chimes.
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