A short visit.

I drove 1000 miles to visit a friend, and found out she was in jail. It was my birthday...and the guard was nice enough to let me visit her as my birthday gift.
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The guard escorts me to the tiny room.
You are sitting there, behind the thick glass.
The screen in the windows breaks you into perfect squares, in harmony with the square cinder blocks.

You are perfectly framed.
By the window, by those you called your friends.
Shivering in your baggy orange shirt and pants, contrasting the dull grey-green walls.

This is not your place, in this tiny room.
I remember saving you from your claustrophobic fear,
Trapped in the ship's elevator on Deep Seas, caged and crying.

I reach out to wipe your tears.
But the glass between us deprives you of any touch.
And I can do nothing to help you, as the guards pull us away, back to seperate worlds.

And I feel your anguish, alone.
I go back to my tiny hotel room in a strange town.
I cannot bear to close the door behind me, I let the world see me cry.