Gates slam, voices scream, and somewhere someone bangs on a metal bar.
She lies on the bed staring up at the ceiling, her fingers opening and
closing. Her lips press in a heart-shaped pout, and she jerks at times.
It could be shock at the deafening screams that make my ears ring, or
part of her reaction to the drugs still in her system. Whatever the
case, I want her to look up, because I have brought her new clothes. I
wonder if she’ll notice or if she’s unmoved because of her innocence.
Does despair hold her soul because she’s doing time for someone else’s
drug crime? I touch her abdomen gently, and she responds with movement.
She shows no hint of despair; that’s the emotion I project in picking
her up. This innocent prisoner of nine months, a baby behind metal bars....
There are prisoners we never think of, babies, orphans, broken women serving a prison sentence for defending themselves, and as I began to think about this, I knew I had to find out the truth about their lives. So I vitied a home for female ex-offenders and it was such a blessing, come read about this over at
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