The Children of Asylum Seekers

Simple removal of child from parents fleeing fire.
Simple wrapping of woman, mother,
man, father, in wire.

Inside white tents, crèches
of brown children mill,

waiting for the feeling of
recognition to flood their bodies.

All we know of our parents is in the body: I knew
my mother’s breast, because it was there that I turned outward
to see the world. It was my floor.

I knew my father’s chest because for a while
my weakness fit there, like a soft body
under hard wing casings.

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