Written March 20th, 2015, from the California Institute for Women.
The more I pull on this taffy-day, the longer it stretches.
The hard concrete bench stabs, the sun punishes, and I sit in exile for being injured. I am not entitled to good health or the choice to preserve it. I am a prisoner, worth nothing.
He questions my tears, but I remain silent, wearing my nothingness like he wears his badge.
In response, he activates a water mist. Rainbows burst free, crowning us in magic, fogging his uniform. He smiles in contagious delight.
Caught in the compassionate confetti of his daylight– I am refueled by this day’s tangy sweetness.
After our first brief conversation, Mr. Quinones told me that I was dignified and kind, and that he hoped I left prison with those traits in tact. The day of the rainbows, he helped make sure I would. I am grateful for the gift of hope. Unfortunately, the closest thing to a thank you he ever got from me was a badly-grilled prison patty melt. I made it myself! … I know, the poor man deserved nothing of the sort.
One day I’ll write about the C.O.’s and girls I spent the most amount of time with, rather than the ones I only knew in passing, but for now I’ll just keep posting the things I wrote from inside.
I wonder if you were as curious about my daily life as I was curious about yours?