by Chandra Bozelko | Dec 24, 2012 12:12 pm | Comments (14)
“Hey whores!” called a guard as he circled our cell doors to deliver mail. “Letters from y’all’s sugar daddies!”
I began to understand why prostitutes settle into a lower caste in prison.
by Chandra Bozelko | Dec 3, 2012 1:21 pm | Comments (4)
The thrill of going commando lasts only so long. It had been five days since I last wore underwear.
by Chandra Bozelko | Nov 22, 2012 10:36 am | Comments (1)
Angie, an inmate in the cube next to mine, would come back to North Dorm at 6:30 every evening in her hounds tooth checkered pants and white scrub shirt—a prison’s kitchen uniform—stinking of onions and Pine Sol.
She posted a sign on her TV, the prison kind of TV: clear plastic, showing all electrical innards and exposing any contraband the sneaky prisoner tries to hide in it. The sign read: “Do the women run this bitch or what?”
by Chandra Bozelko | Nov 15, 2012 1:16 pm | Comments (5)
“They sayin’ Sandy is gonna get us locked down. Who is she?” one woman asked.
by Chandra Bozelko | Nov 8, 2012 1:16 pm
A fellow inmate—a mother of two—approached me for help. The state accused her of violating the terms of her probation by obeying her probation officer’s order for her to work. The problem was that she worked in Rhode Island and crossed state borders without permission every time she clocked in.
by Chandra Bozelko | Oct 31, 2012 11:17 am | Comments (1)
The color black is a gang neutral.
by Chandra Bozelko | Oct 24, 2012 3:21 pm | Comments (4)
I held my fellow kitchen workers at York Correctional Institution in rapt attention, not because my lesson was so good, but because we were all finally allowed outside.
by Chandra Bozelko | Oct 15, 2012 3:02 pm | Comments (1)
When I arrived at York prison, a corrections captain who knew my educational background advised me to apply to join the inmate writing group.
“Oh, thank you, but I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to join.” Those words came out of my mouth in March 2008.
by Chandra Bozelko | Oct 2, 2012 12:35 pm
When I came to prison, I thought that all the childish “Reindeer Games” played on the outside would become more brutal on the inside, heated up with aggression, insults and even violence, making my practice of joining the exiled much harder. But no one sits alone in prison.
by Chandra Bozelko | Sep 27, 2012 11:30 am | Comments (4)
Someone was tampering with my mail by delaying it, ripping it or just tossing it.
Whenever I complained, the same excuse reared its head: I was under investigation for a misunderstanding with a guard and my mail needed to be reviewed.