ch1\ i make the bed

I had been in the loop for two days. A cold concrete place with no bedding, mostly used as a drunk tank. I was wearing a soft purple sweater from REI and blue jeans, but they had taken my shoes and underwear. They stripped me down entirely in a hallway and then pushed me into […]

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spades

November 2018 His voice is comfortable with itself, the kind of calm authority you develop when people count on you to say the right thing. He is a reverend, and the food has just been set down, and we are new friends so he looks up from across the table and asks, “I’d like to […]

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i get it

These are some prison vignettes, themed around incomplete and uncomfortable memories that swim around my head sometimes.  I guess this a trigger warning, but the topics are so varied and layered that I’m not even sure what I’m warning you about. I love you, though– so take care of you. xo,Ra There’s a knocking at […]

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rainbow enough

As time happens, I encounter more and more people who think prison is a metaphor I fold into my writing. In a way, this makes sense. It was hard for people to imagine me in prison, even when I was there. And everyone knows, I love a good metaphor.  Metaphors are my first language, the […]

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a little step

This was written November 27th, 2014 from the California Institute for Women, from room 136– the cell without a mirror or light, or doorknob, where I spent my Thanksgiving.  I had a window, though, and the room to myself– and it was a lovely place to write. Some of you may remember this, as it […]

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fancy nights

My favorite perfume sinks into my skin like a snowflake. It smells like the city at three in the morning– tall skyscrapes and neon moongods and the husky solos of midnight natures. It suits me, but not most people. It’s soft on me, but strong enough that I leave it behind in homes and arms […]

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dear gillian

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 […]

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no words

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 […]

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