"Maybe it's best not to think that way.
The worst part isn't the unknowing or the snaking lines
in the visitation area, the dour faces, the streaks of anxiety
in the air, that processing, the paperwork, the frantic kids,
the locker, the paperwork, they're
being treated like you too are an inmate.
The worst part isn't the ghost she
lives with in the bedroom, propping a pillow next to her,
a secret she tells no one.
The worst part is when suddenly the sun coming in
through the car window, the small breath in a parking lot,
watching a group of dim brown sparrows
bobble an oversized crumb, when there actually
feels like a future.
When she can see it, stick it in her mouth,
and roll it around like a hard candied shell.
The worst part is when she allows herself
some scrap of happiness.
When she can imagine being touched.
When she can imagine being touched."