In honor of the tax season that just passed, I present to you Patience by Ian Llanas. Having known a couple of people who had issues with their taxes, I advocate knowing the rules and playing by them.
I became a made man so I had ‘made’ tattooed on my hand. Every time I wanted to open my mouth about what I’d done to earn my stripes, to keep my stripes, prove my stripes, I glance at the ink.
It gives me pause.
It makes me think.
Think about freedom. Think about choice.
Think about what I would say if I had a voice.
They took my tongue, blinded me, and threw me in an off-the-books cell. Not the cushy kind where Dons and billionaires lounge. The kind that mind you wish that had just placed you in the ground.
To get me to talk, they cracked my face, but I’m a made man and I know my place. Here I only know vague light and pure dark. For every week that goes by, I make a mark. Because after ten years, the day will come when the magic in the ink will be undone.
I will still keep my vow of silence.
But I’ll completely shatter the one against violence.
© Ezekiel James Boston