Freedom, you misplace my identity
At the tollgate, yet you find a face
Reflected in eyes that iron air.
Perhaps a concept can burn into a person,

               But when will my body
And my sisters become people? 
Loss hides in the hills behind us—
I lose a language in the name of nationhood.

The route home is as dilapidated as democracy.
               I anticipate arson’s outrage 
If the authorities refuse to rehabilitate
The potholes in the republic’s roots.

               A rifle tells our truck to turn west,
Meaning I’m free to screech up to the past. 
               My ID reflects a face I’ll never see—
               Freedom, meet me in the rear-view mirror.