COLD



Standing in line
Waiting to cross again
It’s like being
On the field
But without a rifle

It’s cold
Like it is
In the mountains

The game here
Is different
It’s still a matter
Of patience
Waiting for

The right moment

For a good harvest
For the beloved family

Instead of knives
And cartridges
We have notebooks
Pens and books
But we can also read:

Faces
Eyes
Movements
Minds

Our backpacks
Carry our
Different personalities
Useful identities
Of border crossers