Confinement After Midnight
by Deanna Lynd

 creative-writing  poetry  prison-life

We are enraged for this is a choice that has been taken from us. As I continue drifting, floating, and dangling in and out of consciousness, I see you standing there above me, looking down upon me, down, further and further down. You wave your flag un-amused, congratulating a country on armistice that you are not even a citizen of, you appear to be a tourist lost and confused.

“Have you come here to pollute yourself among the accused?” I then begin to tell you of Dreams I have been dreaming. Dreams of boxcar rides and west coast tides brush fires and flat tires.

Dreams of nap sacks and cigarette packs “California?” you ask. “No you imbecile, Jack Kervoac?” “Listen forget Jack” you say. “Leave those bums to their own day”.

You tell me you will save me, and oh, how I wish that you would. I have always loved you fierce and you have always loved me that best that you could.

Hey! Wait one goddamn minute! This is beginning to rhyme with the sand in my glass! You knew good an dwell it was this desert I wanted to by pass!

Drifting, floating, dangling, black… I am assuming that I must be dreaming but assumptions are so unreliable these days.. I am not sure I know the difference any longer.

I hear the echo of a steely surface connecting infinitely with a place I have yet to enter into that sound never escape me even on my best days.

So definite, So final, So definite, So final, I feel beneath me a cold hard surface it forces me to recall that winter you threw me to the ground and turned your eyes to a figure far and away.

I turned my head to see a thin shaft of light beaming through a tiny slit between floor and portal. Then I think a the floor I lie upon becomes colder and harder this is just like all the world, a cold hard surface.

I then catch movement from the corner of my eye. I attempt to distinguish between crawling and walking and think that we still crawl many times after we have walked.

I noticed a beetle on his back frantically waving his many legs. He is filled with dread not knowing what will become of his existence.

We lie on the floor together quite alike, paralyzed with the fear of not knowing when we will crawl again or if perhaps we will even stand.

“What do you mean wait?”

Surely the heat has caused your mind to deteriorate I have lost you. I have no reception in this place. Oh, there you are I will always remember that un-amused face!

Then I remember what I really didn’t want to. We drank a fifth, never spilled a drop made love all night, it was me on top. We plead the fifth, never did either of us say one word.

You dried my tears and told me to be patient and soon I would be a free as a bird. We slept on fifth, some seedy motel my head on your chest your needle in my arm. I cannot recall ever being so warm drifting, floating, dangling. Don’t you see…

The best part of being alone. You owe no one an explanation. Shhhh. Now go back to sleep back to your soul vacation.

Notes

Deanna Lynd #Y24235 C1112 Lower
Homestead Correctional Institution
19000 SW 377th St. Suite #200
Florida City, FL 33034-6400