God the Mother Speaks of Xenia

I AM the children sleeping under mylar in a Texas warehouse.I fathers lifting toddlers to their shoulders on our journeyto safety and rest. I'm But mostly motherswho'd rather not lug heavy memory of twelve-year-old boycut fit sack, ditched neighbor's steps. hold his ghost hand,a pale flower. Some call us vermin, an infestation. We're waitingfor recognition's spark, milk kindness, hoping for something hope.Even goddess like me needs birds perch soul. Even Irequire feathers, tune that never stops. Don't look guards,or guns. false borders, fenced miles or razor wire.Haven't taught you better? body arrives by crossingover. Sperm into egg. Then uterine guestroom. cervical gate.Each life light-chip, hard & bright, slip second skin. So,I will walk with, as, them. My names rhyme with exile asylum.I wear boots, steel-toed. running shoes. these cracked, bloody soles.