Open Letter #10, to a boy in juvie

What are you doing in jail, boy with a face like a misty morning field?  What did you do (what did this world do to you) to find yourself counting minutes between such drab walls?

This morning I dug through dresser drawers and rifled through hangers, searching for a non-gang-affiliated-color shirt, as I do every morning on the days I volunteer.  With a sigh, I settled on a turtleneck the color of a city sidewalk.  Then, wondering about the possibility of red, I slipped into a vest the color of an Oregon barn slick with newly fallen rain and ran for the bus.