My backyard is a woman's
correctional facility,
a stepping stone
from prison to freedom
In the summer
I smoke on my third story balcony
I watch the women
over the green fences
Until yesterday
I never caught more
than braiding hair
and muffled conversation
But now
I have heard two women
yell across the fences
"I love you"
I knew it wasn't just a friendly love
or a family love
there was passion in the yelling
"I will be there waiting for you"
What crimes of passion
we all commit
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