“no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land” after Warsan Shire

somewhere between the north and south pole
there’s a boundary between a calendar day
and the next–if crossed right may cross out
the ink of yesterday and maybe even
for a moment I will cease to exist

briefly I used to think to express is
to exorcise until I emptied my tank trying
to drive [..] out of my system, or is it
to filter, a memory as selective as a catalogue
sort: emotion low to high

somewhere between my navel and diaphragm
stands a piece of string, stuck but plays the saddest
lullabies to keep me from sleeping or forgetting
he says all of the things I have not healed from
become my muses and I stand at the border

not knowing which is which–see there’s this
line between my navel and diaphragm that only
I can see but it darkens, becomes more visible
select: next day delivery

somewhere between […..] and [….]
I lost myself–no one ever tells you how to
calculate or declare your value, where
to collect the pieces or replace
what you never had

and maybe when I cross the line
between the north and south pole where time
can go backwards or forwards, I could for a moment
understand what compels a man to cling to a plane in Kabul
to hand a baby over a wall like luggage

maybe to have a future is the same as going back in time select: express package

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