I stand two feet hopping on
the threshold
I think of the children
hands covering their ears
one two three four hundred and sixty
try think of lucky shooting stars
mothers whisper therapists words
his small bones tremble he draws on dove white paper
a cowering moon and stars under a colourful skullcap overarching the sky a hot white sun that sears your backside as you descend down a blue metal slide into the paper of the other
liquid, brown eyes shut tight she knows the name of each rocket whistling by she used to know the name of each goat in the herd she draws
they stole her kite set fire to her dreams blew them into a red balloon that wailing winds carried over
far from her
my toes dance back and forth
one incendiary hot bed to the other they cannot rest
for I have tasted the hummus that is the same
across the border