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6.3
Rachel MacDonald
Observations at a Boys’ Prison in Jamaica

Here are no jumpsuits, no orange-streak guilty, no crease between out and in, where shadow-thick heat beats the zenless walls, that chip-shot blue cinderblock, and thorn-cropped wire crowns the yard, screaming got you, we got you, we got you.
Here are the boys named convict, the captured child kings, tomcat captains of Caribbean alleys, orphaned princes of symbiosis, the lords of pot, port sweepers, lost boys of Odysseus sailing dirt street ways, land locked and ready, for bread, for the father’s return.
Here are the skinny gods with proud backs and thick knuckles, blue bruises on still-soft cheeks, motherless sorcerers with glacial eyes, freezing us in awe of their gaze, got you, we got you, we got you.

Rachel MacDonald is an emerging writer; she works as an educator, poet, and recently served as an editor at the Victorian Periodicals Review (John’s Hopkins University Press). She is a chronic hobby adopter, violinist, amateur potter, yoga lover, and baking enthusiast. Her favorite sweets typically include chocolate-fruit fusion, but her signature desert is a delectable carrot cake. Email her for the recipe at remacdonald@ymail.com.