A clot of colors
with my now clean glasses put on
turns into a crowd of people
waiting in doubled-back queues
to be loaded onto buses.
The blues turn out to be uniforms,
men and women in uniforms—
not police, but something official,
the federal government I guess.
All the other colors are dirty,
travel and sweat stains
that darken the reds into burgundy
and the yellows into gold.
The snippets of language
that traverse the no-mans land
between me and the people I observe
are obscene, guttural and English.
Each person in the queue
wears an ankle bracelet—
of blue serial number tattoos.
As the buses fill, I feel
I’ve seen this scene before
in archival footage
of black and white train stations,
of people carrying everything they own
on their way to a solution.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
When I saw the TV footage of the immigrant family separation policies of the 2018 US government, I was both angered and crushed. I could not believe that sort of treatment to human beings was going on in the US again. I say again, as a reference to the horrible treatment by the US government in the past to African Americans and Native Americans.
My anger got me to donate money to organizations that are working to reunite sundered families, to donate money to organizations fighting for human rights and against human rights abuses.
I was crushed emotionally and had to cease watching the news for several weeks as I found it all overwhelming.
I do not comprehend how the ICE agents who enacted the policies could in good conscience go to their houses of worship on their next holy day. The separation acts are so against how I view simple human rights and human decency.
It was months before I could write this. That happens when the emotions are too big for words, or for the mouth to speak or the fingers to type.
Love & Light