I smiled when I first saw her.
I smiled and called her beautiful, giggled with her and watched the planes fly by.
When I came home I cried until I felt like I could cry no more.
I had caught glimpses of her through the gaps in the fence and when she sat on her dad’s shoulders.
She was 5 and I had never been more angry.
Who had the right to put her behind bars?
What crime had she committed?
She is five, she is five, she is five.
The next time I saw her we played with bubbles and I was given a list of numbers so that I could visit
Now I no longer see her in stolen glimpses through fences, but in an air conditioned dining hall, drawing and playing with playdough.
More family members joined and soon it became a family affair and a weekly tradition.