The thick air strangles me as I walk
into the room filled with people like me.
Each one of them is talking with their parent
from behind the glass.
In front of me, I see my mother

she is wearing a long black dress,
the one she is saving for a funeral.
We then sits down and she talks
of how Bobby flunk out of school
and how she is struggling to keep

Jimmy from ending up like me.
But I didn’t pay much attention because
I was distracted by the clock ticking.
The time went by quickly,
the one hour feels like one minute.

When my time is up, the guard calls for me
and my mother cry like this is a funeral,
her tear becomes pale like her skin.
When we say our goodbye, we places
our hand against the glass,

so our palm is facing each other.
My mother smile, her tear went away
because she can feels my hand holding on to hers.
But as for me, all I can feels
was the cold glass resting on my hand.