I never knew my dad – he’s been locked up my whole life! CPS took the kids!
There is no work hommie! I am going to slang (sell drugs) for a minute, I really don’t want to…it’s eating me up Kev. I’ll come back to the men’s group, I miss you guys.
Our baby is dying, can you come baptize her? You’re the only that can come, I will let the detective guarding the door know.
West Side City shot up my nana’s house, my primo got shot in the chest, but he’s going to make it.
My little homie OD’d!
We took care of those fools Kev!”
These are the questions and the realities I encounter on a daily basis in my work with the Diocese of Phoenix’ Prison Ministry. These experiences and emotions build up, forming a beat in my head, a beat that doesn’t stop. Sometimes it stops at the break of dawn…but quickly starts again.
In the desert I am looking for the water to pool up, but it won’t; it just dries up into the crusted earth. Will Grace do the same? I feel the pain of these with whom I work. My tears fall with theirs. However, at the end of the day I get to go home to my little oasis. My tears cease, theirs continue like rain.
Grace, where are you? Our people are dry lipped.