I want some things to be
gone like revoking a passport
no more designated grace
Just looking
across the border the landscape
appears about the same as
the acre I’m standing on
The guard
nearest
in a box and bored
Does it all have to make sense?
the world I mean
does my trauma have to fit
your trauma for either of us
to haul a pad of ink out of a desk drawer
stamp a visa and approve entry
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: Persephone Abbott, Poem, Some things to be gone