You’re 3 –
You don’t understand but you can see your mother kicking, your father yelling, their eyes swelling…
With tears they cry as you’re taken away.
To a warehouse with cages, foil blankets… but, no where to play.
The clothes of the kids are the only colours you see, one asks for your age and you hold up three
With a smile he hugs you, points at your pants and says is that wee?
Your big eyes water but you still don’t talk
Your new friend takes your hand and pulls you to walk
You sit in a corner against another cage, you notice it’s filled with ones that look your age
Your little fingers curl on the cold steel as you look through the gaps, seeing you they take a picture the headline reads “trapped”
The rooms never get dark, the foil sheets are no match for the cold and your friend you can see is getting rolled.
Today they carried out a wrapped boy.
You look for your friend but you can’t find him
He was joy and kindness, and a light not so dim…
Today your eyes hurt from crying, your stomach grumbles and your body aches.
Today you are three, a detainee and a victim of Trumps decree
When you should be free and starting kinder school
Today instead of learning the ABC, you were a story read aloud on the channel, the 7th death of a child in a South Texan warehouse on the border of Mexico
Today im sorry, because with all this that I know, tonight I will sleep warm, with a full belly and my family with me – whilst you lay for show
Of what happens to a family who had no where else to go.