I’ve been publishing entries from my prison journal about each of my children and the painful recognition of what my incarceration meant for them. Meredith came first, then Jay. This one is about our third child, Tom.
TOM
His arrival was
late,
but such a storm
he was.
His mother almost
lost.
Boy, the nurses
called him,
and later Bulldog
by his
friends.
I just remember
the night he
kept on
crying.
“Why Dad?” he asked,
and kept on
asking.
I had no answer,
and he kept on
crying.
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