by Anna Marie Anastasi
 

I knew someone that went to prison
He was just an acquaintance
But I had a picture of him in my mind
Crying and turning red
Hysterical
While saying some words
At a dead friend’s memorial
When he went to prison
I wrote him a letter
Because I felt bad
Because I remembered seeing him
Crying and red
Soft and transparent
Like rice paper and milk
Crumpling and curdling in front of me
Hysterical
His letters were so positive
He wanted to be a welder
And have a garden
One day, he innocently gave my address to another inmate
Who claimed he knew me
And wrote me a letter
That sent out feelers and whispered through my hair
As I shuddered in the quiet empty 
Of my once private room
Crying and red
My penpal could tell
And after that
He stopped writing to me
I think because he knew
Because he could tell
Something pent up was cutting through me
And into him