He stands tense at the border

Short tan soldiers rifle through each bag

Scrutinizing every detail. Deep green caps.

His red carpet bag weighs him down;

Bag filled with

     Hope

Joy

     Light

People shift fretfully in line, shuffling

To each checkpoint

Simply one of many along the way.

He inches forward; he’s next.

She perches, alone on the roof.

The sun scalds her pale skin.

Motorcycles, buses, bicycles

Drive around far below

Milling about aimlessly, people walk

But she sits, alone, and she

prays—prays the soldiers

don’t care.

Hours pass, still she stays on the roof

Praying—continuously praying

Will the soldiers see what is inside

The bag of hope?

His breath barely escapes him.

He strides forward; it’s his turn

Zip, they open his bag.

Heads bowed over their work

He does not breathe.

Their hands glide across the hope

            Uncaring

They signal him through.

The sun sets palely down the cityscape,

People filter away and silence falls,

Night has descended, the moon

emerges. Still, she prays—

Alone—perched on the roof.

He steps off the train

His bag swings lightly

He—tall, black hair, sees

The empty cityscape, everyone

Has returned home. He

Has returned home

Into her devoted embrace

“You won’t believe it,”

“What?”

“They didn’t even care.”