Six Poems by Anonymous, Northwest State Correctional Facility, St. Albans, VT

What They Told Me

Truth
At least as they saw it.
And really,
Who can argue
With facts, after all?
And yeah,
It cut pretty deep.
But I’ll be
Goddamned
If I let them see it.
It’s not something
I hadn’t told myself
Many and many a time,
But I could
Smile
And fake that
The thought wasn’t there
As long
As nobody
Verbalized it.
But now,
What they told me
Is in the daylight,
Echoing in my ears
And in my head.
And that echo
Rings true.

I Couldn’t’ Stop Thinking About It

What she said.
How it cut.
The betrayal.
The heartbreak.

The anger.
How dare she!
I sat
Simmering silently.

You want me
To care more
For yours
Than for mine.

Blood is blood.
He is mine.
Yours are not.
A simple choice.

Who’s still there?
Not you.
Who still cares?
I wish not me.

Blood is blood.
He is mine.
I’d make that choice
Every time.

Untitled

How come the one
Who is so skilled
At wounding me
Is the one
Living inside my head?
That treacherous traitor
Has the inside track
On exactly where
To cut
To cause
The most damage.
He is committed
To his job,
Works 24/7/365,
Even holidays.
That weasel
Does good work,
I must admit.
I just wish
The prick
Would take a break
Once in a while.

Untitled

Cut me if you want.
I’ve been cut before,
Intentional or not,
By my own hand or yours.
This is not unfamiliar territory.

Stone me if you must.
A rock against
My thick skull may
Actually do some good,
Knock some sense into me.

Harm me if you will.
If it is important
That you see me wounded
Then here I stand
To serve as your target.

Break me if you can.
Better have tried,
And, despite every
Scar, bruise, and wound
I am still here.

Untitled
I am no good at puzzles.
Even with
The picture before me,
I gawk
At the pile of pieces,
Their irregularly irregular
Shapes,
Begging to come together
Even after
All the effort,
By piece 999
I see that
One is inevitably lost.

Somewhere,
The piece I seek
Has simply
Fallen off the table,
But rather than scour
For it,
I simply close the box,
Convinced
Nowhere will I find
The jagged edges
That fit mine,
The one who’d
Bring me peace.

Untitled

She looks at the door
From her place on the floor
For someone who isn’t
Coming back any more.

She sighs out her nose
After sniffing his clothes,
Then heads to the spot on the floor
From which she rose.

She sees the food for her,
And turns away, her fur

Longing for the feel of those
Fingers, loving, familiar.

Sit there, squeak her toy,
She’ll ignore you, there’s no joy
Bubbling out from inside her,
She just waits for her boy.

She sighs through her nose,
Looking at the door.
That he’s gone, she doesn’t know,
Or that she’ll see him no more.