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Swirls of metallic blue paint
Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

After they all leave, I remain alone with poems — some poems of mine, some of others. I prefer poems that others have written. I remain quiet, and slowly the knot in my throat dissolves. I remain.

Sometimes I wish everyone would go away. Maybe it’s nice, after all, to write poems. You sit in your room and the walls grow taller. Colors deepen — a blue handkerchief becomes a deep well. You don’t know what’s the matter with you. Perhaps you’ll think of something — destiny and the future. You wish everyone would go away. 

I fear what I don’t know. I tried to figure things out, except each step appears new. Separation is built, instead of building up each other; it’s not hard to see that we as humans are one. Until this madness stops, we won’t move any further. 

You sit, alone; your heart aches but it won’t break. The faded images wash away one by one. You have infinite treasures. Surely you remember.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Ramiro Leon is a writer incarcerated in California.