Raindrops
Raindrops camouflage tears
Raindrops let one know if it’s a scattered shower or storm.
Raindrops are always cold
No raindrops, drought
Raindrops wake up in the flood.
Raindrops in the forest sometimes
Don’t hit the ground, as a child
I swallowed raindrops to quench
My thirst.
Raindrops hit the window that decorate
This dark concrete cage every drop speaks
To me in a tap, tap, tap, code
Raindrops ignite poet mode.
Every month, a physical envelope arrives at your door, postmarked from San Quentin Village, California. Inside, you will find original artwork, writing, and recipes from real contributors, along with a personal letter from me, Diane Kahn, founder of Humans of San Quentin, about the people who made them. You read it. You keep it.
Every piece comes from someone serving a sentence. Every piece reminds you they are so much more than that.
📬 Join the Mail Club
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