TO REACH THE CENTER FOR FORENSIC PSYCHIATRY

I feel sometimes, David,

that I will never

be able to visit you again.

You’re always

being shipped to a new facility.

They

keep shifting my schedule at work

and I

can’t ride with Mom to see you,

but I sent

with her a picture I colored.

Kent County wouldn’t allow

crayon

drawings, so I’ve had it since May.

All summer I walked for you

barefoot

in grass, green as the outfit you

were issued.

I don’t know, Dave, what color

you are

wearing in Yapsilanti, but you can

get phone calls now. I will

call when I get my corrugated

voice to work.

Brian Janisse (Apr. ‘17) says, “David is my brother, with whom I’ve always been close. This poem reflects the disconnect I felt when he was locked in a psychiatric hospital.”

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