• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 02
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Free to Dance

In my dreams, I recall dances with my children — babies of 4 and 5 years — on a tiny plot of green grass — we called our small slice of paradise — hidden amongst the looming buildings made of concrete and bullet proof glass — from dawn to dusk. We twirl, whirl, and bask under the warmth of the bright blue, sunlight sky. Icy cold bottles of fresh milk await, on a wooden table — with seats for one and all — that was gifted to us by kind neighbors — who asked for nothing more than for us to dance — quenching our collective, insatiable thirst for life, love, and liberty.

In my days, I dream of dancing with my children — who will be near adults — before I return to the tiny plot of green grass — we called our small slice of paradise — in a city drunk on fear, guns, and bullet proof glass. I scrub, plead, and bathe under the watchful eyes of guards — some know my name — most know my number — from dawn to dusk to dawn. Lukewarm bottles of sour milk that await, on the wooden table — with seats for some — but typically none — that was gifted to corrections by collectors — who asked for nothing because we have nothing to give — other than our alleged collective, insatiable thirst for expired claims and false rumors of lethargy, lawlessness, and laziness.

In my dreams there are no locks. No random loopholes. No self-loathing. No lethal fights. No litigious liars. No lies. No innocent lock-ups where a woman who loves to dance is taken from her dancing children and charged with a crime — lost loot found lying in their small patch of paradise — she never committed but for which she pleads guilty because she cannot use her remaining change — the money saved to purchase icy cold, fresh milk, food, and clothing for her sweet children — for a bail amount that is more than she makes in a month.


Free to Dance

Innocent lock up.
Monthly paychecks less than bail.
Sweet lives turn sour.

No limits to luck. No limits to love. No loss. No loneliness. No longing. No sour milk.

Icy cold, fresh milk.
Bright blue skies and puffs of clouds.
Sweet freedom to dance.