It’s only when Cheryl-Ann Buford
comes to my cell
that I at least sit up in bed
Then she says
Is this your way of telling us
that you prefer solitary?
Because we can arrange it
I prefer to be in the class that lady
was teaching, I mumble
Poetry? Oh, that’s a perk, Mr. Shahid
A treat for those who do
what they’re supposed to
It’s not part of your regular program
You can only participate in
special activities after demonstrating
good behavior, Amal
I’m sorry but you’ll have to earn
your way into that poetry class
Cheryl-Ann Buford says
Then she hands me some envelopes
mail from Umi and—
Tell you what, she continues
You can start back with your classes
on Monday and we’ll see how it goes
I hope these letters will lift your spirits, Amal
You have to make the best of your time here
What I want to say:
I don’t want to do the program
That lady was teaching poetry
and I’d be the only one in there
who would even care and
who would listen
to every word she says
every word
What I actually say:
Nothing
My dear Amal—
The only way to survive hell
is to walk through
Amal—
You have to meditate
study your Quran
do your daily prayers
ask for forgiveness
courage and strength
Amal—
Umi’s letters are too soft for this place
They force me into a bubble
make me float into thick air
and then with just one shout
one slamming of a metal door
one guard yelling my name
or my inmate number
I will burst
The first time I feel something
other than stones and bricks
on my chest
is when I see the name
on one of the envelopes
I read it over and over again
to make sure that
the arrangement of letters
the handwriting
the words
are what I think they say
are who I think it is
Zenobia
Zenobia
Zenobia
Part of me wants to
wait to open it
Part of me wants to
tear it open
So I place it under the mattress
like cash
and save it for when the day comes
when I can’t take it no more
and I feel like my heart is
about to split open
This letter from Zenobia
will be here waiting for me
like glue
like Grandma’s needle and thread
to fix me and put me back together again
Butbut
what if she’s waiting for me
Time is different for her
So I open it slowslow
slowly
and—