Haute Dish The Arts & Literature Magazine of Metropolitan State University red flower
Summer 2005

 

 

 


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Chains
Kristin Johnson

How did I get here? I wish I could take back what I did. But I can’t seem to remember exactly how it happened.

I wonder this each day as I walk up to the bulletproof glass.

The woman behind the glass looks up, buzzes me in.

“Thank you,” I say, knowing it’s better to get along than end up in solitary.

She nods in response. The door claps closed behind me, finality echoing its peace.

I walk through the corridors, seeing so many here for life. And they know it. They have accepted their sentences.

But I cannot accept this. The small spark in my soul urges me to stay hopeful. Some day. Some day things will be different. I will get out and I will have my life back again.

When I get to my place, I study it. Blue chair, grey table, a photo of my nephew taped to the wall. He visits me sometimes. Those are good days. There’s a book on the table. I’m teaching myself HTML. It helps keep my mind from numbing.

Sometimes I look back and then I remember, sometimes I remember what happened.

These chains I put on myself.

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