there are no papers to burn
go ahead, cry if you dare—
the ash reeks of power
bloated egos swell
feeding on the borders of our fear

papers, please.

but there are no papers to hand
the officer looms
his eyes black voids
devouring hope

behind me, my mother—
167 centimeters of flesh
71 kilograms

"i come to work,
i remain three months."

the day collapses—
"another terrorist attack. implement stricter border rules."
time splits open
the air curdles
choking on the howls of the dying

my son asks for crayons—
red for blood
gray for smoke
blue for a sky
that forgot how to hold the sun

sanctions cut deep
salty stamps slice tongues
their taste metallic
like coins or blood

d.o.b, last name—
a litany of ghosts
the years bleed together
a river of faceless misery

"officer, time is behind me in line.
be kind to her, let her in."

click.
click.

faces smear in the fog
voices devoured by 
checkpoints 
lined with steel teeth

we wait.

our names are knives
carving through the silence
our breath—a final prayer
to a gatekeeper with no face

beyond the border
the earth opens wide
a yawning void
hungry to consume
what’s left of us