This is a poem called "To the Insiders."
This poem will not ask you what you
did because the question is, what can we do?
This poem carries a softness you may remember.
To meet whatever small hollow, you
can create, hide, make ready to receive it.
This poem recognizes you from your baby pictures.
It would know you anywhere.
This poem won't presume to have words to describe
the inside of a prison or a heart,
but its silences are full of room for what fills you.