After the immigration event is over

                                  by Elise Stuart

will we just go home,

turn on the TV,

change the channel?

The guards don’t

take the kids

away from their parents,

do they?

It’s not really

happening.

The kids can’t be

locked in cages

by themselves.

It’s just not as bad

as they say.

In New York harbor,

the Statue of Liberty

slowly decays.

Her crown,

slipping sideways.

Her face,

melting.

Did she ever

watch over us?

She was blind

and deaf.

Just a statue.

A myth.

Her shoulder

crumbles,

the shoulder immigrants

dreamed

they could lean on.

Her unlit torch

breaks off

and falls into

the dark, deep water.

* * * * *

Elise Stuart is a poet and short story writer. After leaving Phoenix, Seattle, Minneapolis, and Stamford, Connecticut behind, she was drawn and held by New Mexico’s brilliant light and blue skies.  Passionate about giving voice to young people, she works with youth in the area, giving poetry workshops, a project she began when she was Poet Laureate of Silver City. When she is not teaching piano, dancing, or hiking with her dog, Tomás, she is at work on a new book of poetry.