February 19, 2017When They Come for Us on the 7 Train
Past the underground tracks, the railroad rises
our eyes adjust to the sun over Jackson Heights
at the platform, the doors slide open and the winter
comes in with the men in their dark uniforms
silence except for the “please
stand clear of the closing doors,” the weight
of their boots sways the car and I raise my hand
towards the pole, but one of the men grabs my
wrist and I feel the cold of his black gloves
against the grooves of my tendons, the cold
crosses my skin, the cold mixes with my blood,
the cold travels in my veins, to my fingertips
to my elbow and my other hand lets go
of my son before the cold reaches him
I say “I’m an American citizen”
the soft tissue in my mouth cracks
with frost, I say it louder
“I’m an American Citizen” and the frozen edges
of the words scratch as they move through my throat
I shout “I’m an American citizen” and reflected
on the man’s visor, I see my face
I think of my son if they take me
I think of my son if they don’t
as he watches me whisper
“I’m an American citizen”
while others are taken
by the men of ice.