it is the phone call allotted to me
with no space for my voice he
spouts my philosophies back to me
speaking with care as if i
need fixing
since i escaped he has whitewashed the walls
hidden my scribbles beneath
and now rewrites them word for word
never knowing he is
only tracing
pedantic lists of bad things to come
from the man once happy to make me laugh each day
once happiest standing beneath blooming trees
happiest now in the cement of his
own making
breathless in the mud beyond
sheer prison walls i’d never seen
lucky for the many who showed me the map
the tunneled route below our cage
just waiting
he who caressed my thigh on the lawn
she who said i could survive anything
the outsiders knew the yards were few
from a sentence for life
to sanctuary
by tara hughes
