The Truth About Jane (Poetry)

It was a cool room
pale antiseptic
tones to ease the clash
of memories hard
to keep from bleeding

And a dull routine
enough to kill what
impulse there remained
to imagine how
life might be outside

these container walls
Jane spent her sentence
drifting wordlessly
emotion deadened
to full compliance

The notes about her
hidden in a file
marked ‘Confidential’
opinions — nothing
more than theories

The real truth was locked
inside Jane’s sad and
well-sedated head
so spaced she wasn’t
saying anything