Rose and heart balloons by Crane-Station on flickr. Jail art: colored pencil, ink and magazine ink.
In the end of The Red Balloon, the balloons all come to the boy, and take him away.
note: Frog gravy is a nonfiction incarceration account.
KCIW PeWee Valley women’s prison, mid-Spring, 2009.
What beauty! The sky is filled with hot air balloons. A festival of piloted spinnakers with magnificent colors and patterns. A parade in the air!
We are locked down. Because we contaminate the air. Razor wire and balloons will never mix.
There, in the air, are colorful symbols of freedom, of innocence lost, of escape. From maddness and war and inhumanity and pain.
So close I can read the letters, of corporate-sponsored inflated symbols. Symbols of a life I once had but lost. Of failure I can almost retrieve and take back.
I step into the store of my mind and say, “Put this on my insanity tab.”
Comes the reply: “Your credit is good with us.”
I pay and enjoy the ride in the Red Balloon.