The Border Crisis
Poetry
Are all children created equal?
Are all children deserving of love?
There’s a border that runs
between your skin and mine.
I cannot be expected to cry
over every kid that goes to bed
hungry or unclean,
sleeping in trauma blankets,
huddled together to keep warm
on a concrete floor.
I cannot be expected to care
about every family
separated and searched,
segregated and caged
out of my sight
in another world.
O child, nothing is bad
as it seems, snot and vomit
crusted to clothes,
shitting and pissing
and puking and pissing,
coughing, crying, screaming,
like abandoned dogs.
You’re lost, missing luggage,
no toothbrush,
no deodorant,
no lice comb,
no hands to cradle your face
and tell you this is all
some terrible dream.
There’s a border that runs
between your skin and mine,
and like all borders
it’s just another
invisible line.
