The Fork in the Road

(As a part-time chaplain at the Dane County jail I have never been in a courtroom when a sentence was handed down until recently. If you ever find yourself taking for granted the beauty and miracle of your singular life and the myriad of options that lie before you like an outrageous banquet, I know a place where you can go to awaken again.)

The air is heavy with regret and worry
in this federal courtroom.
A young man not yet 40
does not look up to the bench
as the sentence of 294 months is read.
The collision of unwise choices
and severe consequences
screams silently in tears rolling down cheeks
of mother, sisters, brother, and friends.
This fork in the road
was not foreseen in the fog of addiction
and drug deals going down.
The next transformation may either be
a mind and soul-numbing twilight zone
of fossilizing anger and depression
ending in alienation,
or a revolution in character
through grief, sorrow, and compassion for self and others.
The prevailing winds of statistics
favor the former.
The prayers of the family in shock
heading home across the frozen fields
is for the latter.