Two Hands
By Kim Roberts
Red Onion State Prison, Virginia Department of Corrections, Pound, VA
When he raised both hands
to scratch his scalp, it looked
at first like prayer—not shackles,
not that easy way he had
of someone inured to his shackles.
The doubling of his hands
was like a double consciousness,
our visit an escape from his prison-self.
I got advance permission
for a longer visit, four hours,
since the drive took me two days
but still it was four hours
through glass, his hands
shackled for four hours. Yet still
they were graceful, still
so much his hands,
even constrained. The four hours
went more quickly than I expected,
so hungry was he for talk.
I almost forgot the glass, the guards
passing at regular intervals,
the high walls that blocked
all natural light, until he raised
both hands to scratch his head,
a simple gesture—as if
in silent, heavenly appeal.
Source: Poetry (February 2021)