After Emma Lazarus
Not like the woman who waits in the harbor
shining her light to welcome the masses.
Here, on our thirsty desert borders,
a fragmented wall of hubris clashes
with wide open spaces, the sun and stars.
I see— but can’t bear— man’s inhumanity,
so turn eyes from the wall to finer affairs
like the scorpion’s trail— calligraphy
on the dunes— the whistling of a swallow
coming home to her nest, cacti and bees
exchanging sustenance, pink sky followed
by rose dusk. Such things as these I believe
will be and will be, while the wall lies near
in the sand half sunk, soon to disappear.
Published in Crab Creek Review, Spring 2022