While you were Inside I paced the street in front of your cell in my housecoat. I redecorated, took up smoking and quit, drove out by the work crews on 240 saying, that one looks just like you would if you were black. I made acquaintances, other wives and husbands with wives and husbands In: Glen was nice, Darlene a bitch. I walked past the jail up State Street where storefronts, cafes, had folks dressed in cardigans with cappuccinos, doing a dance of Getting-By, of Moving, always moving. And you were Inside, writing your memoir in glaring inconsistencies. Oh, while you were Away, I watered the plants, considered redecorating, maybe moving Upstate. I waited. I plotted. I baked you a birthday cake once with a file in it and detailed instructions for hanging.