I went to work at the prison
as I do every day.
I aid incarcerated women
with their education.

This day, I saw smoke
rising across the street.
Firetrucks were flashing—
men were in the street and yard.

I did not stay for too long—
I had a busy day ahead.

In conversation with a student,
I mentioned the house outside—
the white one near the corner
with the broken swing out front.

She said she knows the people well,
she sees them every day
when she leaves by bus
for a factory where she works.

She says it’s Mrs. Smith
who lives there with her husband, Jim.
They have two kids in middle school—
the older one’s Samantha,
who plays the clarinet.
The younger boy is Braxton,
who’s on the baseball team.

I smiled and I nodded—
I didn’t know what to say.

She left my office soon,
and I pondered in the moment
about that poor family
that she didn’t know at all. 

– Ian D. Brannan