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.