Erin Lockwood
I leave the house early
Driving east
Into a hazy sunrise
To the courthouse
Where federal agents
In flannel shirts and baseball caps
Will, without warning,
Arrest half a dozen immigrants
And I will bear witness
Offering a prayer
The horror muted by the mundanity
Of quiet voices
The bland hall
An office park.
Our house is hemmed in by others east and west
So I rarely see a sunrise
Brilliant, quotidian
Our house is far from the courthouse
So I rarely see the violence
Brutal, quotidian.
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ERIN LOCKWOOD is a political science professor and writer who lives in southern California. Her poetry has been accepted for publication in the Union Spring Literary Review and Red Door Magazine.
Union Spring Literary Review 