I left prison today, last year. I washed before leaving, taking the longest and hottest shower I had taken in what felt like years. The girls gave me space, so I could get as clean and ready as possible. I left all my bath supplies behind, the bodywash and shampoo, the deodorants. Somebody would use it. I left everything behind. All I had was two … Continue reading roots and wings
I sparked my first match when I was six years old, in the harvest season, for the Festival of Lights. It was a matchbook stick and my big brother helped me tear it off. The cardboard end was unnaturally angled, and bent even further when I gently slid it against the rough striker on the back of the folded book. My fingers already smelled and … Continue reading all the little lights
Written July 14th, 2015 from the California Institute for Women – 100 hours before I was free, a letter never sent, to a friend I’ve not yet met. I didn’t ask her permission, so I’m not linking to her (yet), but she is a blogger, and she is loved. ________________________ Dear Gillian– Good morning! It’s 10am here in Corona, California, USA, and I’ve been up … Continue reading dear gillian
On A-Yard– prison receiving– the library was closed to us. I sold a bag a coffee for a Koontz book and first dibs on a story about a raccoon. It was my only bag of coffee for the month. The women in my room traded lunches for book dibs. There was no library access, and the books sent our way were held back for months … Continue reading no words
“Who?” Curiosity slipped from my teeth before I realized it didn’t matter. I listened to my sister explain, hearing her words in the way only little sisters can. Her husband’s friend and his fiancé were excited to welcome me into their new house. They were good peeps. (Translation: She met them once. They seemed alright. She didn’t tell them the full story.) I’d have a … Continue reading ❤melt : they open doors
In the copshop, in RC– Fire Camp Training at the California Institute for Women. Mr. Darr leaned in on his chair, his body lazily relaxed, his eyes tense and alert. He had called me into the office, staring in silence before speaking. “We don’t listen to rumors, usually, but this one has some meat on its bones. Did you get punched on the yard last … Continue reading 2015, real talk.
A heartmelt post that starts years before I ever went away. Continue reading ❤melt : what if we fly?
I finally held Dave’s death certificate on Monday night. It shouldn’t have been a shock, but it was. I flinched. I cried. It reminded me of the game my little brother loved: Are you afraid of a monster this big? He’d ask, arms outstretched, as wide as he could reach. No, I’d claim. Are you afraid of a monster thiiiiis big? He’d ask, hands and … Continue reading go ahead, clap your hands.