¹

²

³

†

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¹ On the other side,
there is my father.
So I pray, and pray, and pray,
to never go over the fence again.
² When women cross the border,
coyotes get rooms at motels.
When coyotes get rooms,
everybody knows,
and still,
no one walks into the room for you.
³ Here I inhabit the house I was searching for:
my own.

[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Deepa Sivarajan during our annual Kickstarter.]