Blue Prison

Blue prison
in a slatted cell
with a little window
facing north,
no guards
no lock
no key.
Rat tails quiver in the corner.

Blue prison
built on blue stone.
A rare desert mineral,
the inmates say.
A theory of color,
the warden says.
Light therapy,
the doctor says—
no examination needed
no couch
no pills.

Blue prison
under a blue sky.
They say the mountains
are a hundred miles away—
all cactus, rock and sand between.
That’s why no guards.
The rats hiss,
"You can go."
The scorpion snaps,
"You’re free."

At blue prison
it hasn’t rained
in a hundred years.
We gather piss and tears
to water the flowers.
The warden smiles
and walks the empty grounds.

They say blue prison
looks like a lake from space.
Sometimes birds crash here
believing it’s water.
Sometimes the roof’s so blue
the sky bleeds through.

Some are born in blue prison.
Others are bound and brought.
But we’re all brothers and sisters.
Blue made us see the same.
Blue locked us all down.
Blue prison bloomed—
in our minds.


—Eric Nelson