this mangy plot where
by now
only mothers still come,

only mothers guard the nameless plots

•

and then sparingly


•


Peepholes burnt through the metal doors

of their solitary cells,

•
just large enough
for three fingers to curl out
for a lemon to pass through
for an ear to be held against
for one eye then the other
to regard the hallway
to regard the cell and inmate

•

peepholes without a lens

so when the guard comes to inspect me,
I inspect him.
Touch me, he said.
•


And through that opening

I did.