Prison Art Class

By Hannah Riccardi
For AG
You spend the hour drive planning how
to teach the proportions of the face in bold
strokes of acrylic and graphite pencil,
to color in the orange suited silhouettes
who pick up blank watercolor
paper from your clear plastic bin,
rubbing it between fingers,
inhaling the smell of photocopied
pictures and wood shavings
on Saturday afternoon as they sit
to sketch the beginning of a lover’s face,
before time smudges the lines like a thumb
against the shading of cheekbones and the
short sharp lines that hold the way hair
frames lips and eyes.  Today, the math
classroom is a studio, populated by those
who sit in the cold plastic chairs
to watch your hands breathe color.