Poet’s Choice
Honorable Mention

James Roberts

In prison, he said
You cannot let them see
The smile in your eyes.

It brands you weak, soft.
Vulnerable to eager fingers
Coated with rusty knuckles.

No matter what has happened
To you, you have always held
A private smile, a pinprick of hope.

Weary days of clanging doors,
Your black skin wan
Under fluorescent room light.

Ticking off the long hours
Until your parole date.
Still . . . the eyes stay clouded.

Your face, a mask so heavy
It can pull you to the floor
In chill spasms.

Here, at the poetry reading,
Ten months free, a steady job,
A book of poems self-published

You sit quiet, unsure, unwilling
To talk, but the words you now hear
Suddenly snaps the chains.

You can breathe
And you let us see, finally,
The smile in your eyes.

It is something, what poetry can do.