On the Other Side
for the children of Gardner Betts
From my window, I see the
children’s prison. Juvenile detention
sounds softer than it is.
A younger version of me, pregnant
and full of fire, sat in that box
weighing my future and the unnatural
order of things. What a waste,
one teacher shook her head upon
my withdrawal. Just another [insert stereotype].
If only her mother / If only her father—
History repeats itself again.
My daughter churning inside my womb.
30 years later, on the other side
of the street, I watch from the opulent
hotel as little futures are pushed down
the pipeline of forgotten children. I lean closer
into my reflected eye. See the gritty residue
of the past speckled across my face.
***
Author photograph by Cin Elizabeth
