An ICE agent who separated children
from undocumented parents,
feels the fray of the cord that binds soul to body.
She requires our prayers to mend.
She requires the baking of bread from scratch
to fill her office with a sense of family.
Relocation is in her wellspring, her birth-home in northwest Georgia.
Relocation is in her genes, participants from Carson’s Navajo war.
Relocation is in her future as her job transfers her to El Paso.
She knows nothing of roots.
She knows little of family.
She knows she practices blindness, enforcing policy.
An ICE agent feels the desert salt burn her wounds,
like the earth rises up in dusty clouds to smite her.
She acknowledges how foreign this borderland is to her.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
The US government’s treatment of migrants and asylum seekers has been much in the news the past year. So too over the past few days with the President’s threats to close the border. The separation of children from parents affected me in a very large way.
I figure ICE agents have internal conflicts with the policies they enforce. I figure they have their own stories that affect their outlook. I conjured up an ICE agent and wrote about a possible personal history.
I figure I needed to humanize ICE agents, instead of demonize them. This poem is one the results of that figuring.
Love & Light