Lost in Sorrows

John Grant

I was sitting on the edge of my bunk looking at my magazine. The guard passed my cell, called my name about seven cells down. “What’s your number? Oh shit you ain’t this guy.” He came back to my cell.
“ Here you are somebody loves you today you’ve got eight letters.”
Still on my bunk at the edge I open the top letter, from my sister. The first thing I see is a newspaper clipping. I read the letter first, from the contents I don’t need to read the clipping....
What the hell, I read the clipping anyway. The headline reads: “Dusk claims the life of a city mother.” Damn, the tears burn my eyes, some stupid teenagers have driven by and shot my son’s mother.
I’ve been in prison for 7 1/2 years, ain’t never done nothing to nobody, but some stupid S.O.B. killed my woman.
I cry silently, but long the pain instilled in my heart for the love that has left me.
What will my son do, he’s only 11, what can he do?
Nothing because I can’t get out of prison. Lost in sorrow and society thinks the people in prison are bad
They are the ones with the problem

 

MAIL THE AUTHOR A LETTER:

John Grant
K02473
PO Box 99
Pontiac, IL, 61764