Mother Of Exiles

In the sun-baked Arizona desert,

under earth’s blistering sun,

a mother journeys forth

with her two children by her side.

Courage is forged into her core.

Her heart is worn,

like old leather.

The girl, with eyes

bright like stars,

the boy, brave yet quaking,

both

bearing the burden of hunger,

Thirst

a relentless shadow at their heels.

They have crossed a threshold,

not merely of land, but of hope.

Promise of sanctuary now seems a distant echo,

for here,

the earth lies parched,

air

thick with unspoken fears.

Each labored step is a quiet quest,

each breath,

a plea for water,

for sustenance,

for a moment of grace.

And then he appears,

the border agent, eyes like polished stone,

draped in the armor of authority,

right-wing ideals

stitched neatly into his uniform,

silver cross of jesus

hanging heavily on his chest.

His words are trapped

in the tangled web

of his own language,

Spanish is a river

he is unable to cross.

She stands tall,

a mother fierce in her love,

children clinging to her

as a protective shield.

The girl murmurs,“Mamá, I’m hungry,”

The boy cries,  “Are we safe?”

And she, with a flicker of hope, nods,

though her stomach churns, her spirit a flame

flickering in the winds of uncertainty.

The agent,

guardian of borders,

sentinel of divided land,

stands unmoving,

gaze unwavering.

He sees their dirt-streaked faces,

but his understanding falters,

lost in the well of his own beliefs.

The weight

of his convictions 

clashing

with their stark reality.

“¿Agua?”

she asks, in her trembling voice, 

but he remains a statue of indifference,

a monument of resolve.

The sun casts long shadows,

as if the earth holds its breath,

waiting for a spark of kindness 

to bridge the silent divide

that separates their worlds.

In this moment, the world shrinks.

A mother and her children,

a man with a badge,

all caught

in the spider’s web of fate.

The silence, profound,

the air, heavy with unspoken truths.

As the sun descends,

painting the sky with longing,

all they seek is a drop of kindness,

a morsel of humanity in a land

that feels so vast, yet so achingly small.

© 2025 Bruno Talerico

Stafford challenge day 66/365.

Alternate titles:The Golden Door Is Now Closed,

or New Colossus, or You Want A Piece Of Me?

Image generated by AI.