Prison Poems
Prison Poems
By the Check Point
We walk past weeping women,
we walk, stepping in silence,
we don’t dare say a word to them,
we can not wave our hands to them,
we walk, and on their shoulders—
knapsacks of tobacco and grub,
knapsacks of unspent passion,
knapsacks of old anguish.
Subscribe now to read the full article
Online OnlyFor just $19.95 a year, get access to new issues and decades' worth of archives on our site.
|
Print + OnlineFor $35 a year, get new issues delivered to your door and access to our full online archives.
|