The braids twirled through the sky. The beads in her hair jingled in the wind. She twirled over and over, cartwheeling across the yard. The smile on her face shone bright. She paused for a second and waved to me. Then she returned to her cartwheels, travelling across the prison yard. One cartwheel after another after another. I felt the sun shine on my cheeks, the warmth enveloping me. I heard the sounds of the families playing and talking around me. I looked around. Returning Hearts...

Audrey entered the room with a nervous energy that filled the air, thick and unmistakable. ​ “Is this the program where we get to read for our kids?” she asked, her voice filled with enthusiasm. “Yes,” I replied. A few minutes passed as we waited for other women to arrive. I realized that she’d be our only reader that afternoon. Normally, that might have left me feeling disappointed. But not today. Today felt different. We sat together and talked about choosing books for her boys—ages...

Prisons do not exist in a vacuum. Forty-five percent of Americans have had a family member spend time in jail or prison. Ninety-five...