robben island

you scratch on the walls,
mending scuffs and interpreting cracks for
more than they probably ever were designed to be.

you make friends in strange places,
stealing looks from those who otherwise would hide them
and bend the rules of confrontation just a tad.

you move the way they instruct,
but in your own way. a planned, engaged, saddened saddling
between destinations you have no choice in choosing.

you eat to nourish,
filling the void of enterprising creativity with the images
of what tasted good on the outside in those formative years.

you shit in buckets,
trying your hardest to lower your shame from humanity,
the judgment only relative as it reflects on everyone’s face.

you are the brunt of humiliation,
internal and external laughter, taunting and strife
over why the walls of this prison block any escape.

you are the will of determination,
suffering only from a hope that burns through ice ages
and melts all who think they can’t withstand a mere seven days of agony.