Hello!
Below I´ve posted a poem I wrote recently that attempts to describe my Tuesdays at the male youth detention center in a way that prose just can´t. Enjoy!
Tuesdays
Only their plastic kites
manage to escape
the confines of infinity
where their youthful spirits
live trapped in a mud-coated hell
Where I write their words
but not my own
listen to their hearts
but rarely my own
and bathe them in a love
that is not my own.
It comes some days
overflowing
from God
knows where
and others it is all dried up
but mostly
it is always there
at least subtly
soothing sages
who long to be heard
though it can offer
little hope,
just a gaze
that has never seen them
slice or shoot
and thus embraces
their tired eyes in a tenderness
that on a good day
transcends the surrounding filth
in moments that will stay
at least with me
until my mind
quits remembering.
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