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.