Sunday, November 13, 2016


A daughter of the borders, 
I am used to sides 

a thin fence in between 
barb-wire, a cement wall,

a river blue cutting 
a land into desert and plain 

I was not used to a park 
making an incision over the belly of a city 

no smoke of cars, rush 
or barb-wires 

just a thin line of green trees 
turning yellow at their heads 

separating those who believe in freedom 
and those who believe in guns.

No comments:

Post a Comment