into pablum
the temps in the tents
are not all that
bad don’t they
come from heat
these warm body child
actors – don’t you be
believing their alligator
tears: ping pong,
iPads, space
blankets, older ones
to change the babies’
diapers. you’d like it
here where
the repetition of lies
has a rhythm
verging on
lullaby, the heart
no longer breathing
fierce. we’ve forgotten
our true hardiness
zones, this state
already almost used
to 4b, maybe we can soon
grow those Crystal
Blanca lilies, look
elsewhere for the black-
crowned night
heron. Breath comes
easier with that
hummed refrain
words out of
reach. We can almost
not hear where they
will drop the next
tent city (is there room
at Fort Snelling?)
we can just about
sleep
through the night.
________
Suzanne Swanson is the author of House of Music and the chapbook What Other Worlds: Postpartum Poems. She is a winner of the Loft Mentor Series; she helped to found Laurel Poetry Collective. Her poems have appeared in literary journals and the Land Stewardship Letter.
Photograph of detention facilities in Donna, Texas by U.S. Customs and Border Patrol.
________
