Having shared entries from my prison journal about each of my children, I thought I'd continue with a few about my grandchildren. This one is about Alice, who was seven years old at the time.
ALICE
Do you know I
love you?
I’d say to my
granddaughter.
A knowing shy smile
on that beautiful
face.
“Of course I do”
she’d say.
Is there anything purer
than the innocence
of a seven-year-old?
And how am I to come
to terms with
that.
The reckoning of my
scandal
and the perfection
of that
smile.
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