Across the Border

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