I’m not sure I know what’s meant by legal recourse.
Men in vests took B away from us after we came off the plane.
We had the necessary paperwork but were told: not from your country.
I don’t know where our luggage has been taken.
I had milk powder and diapers for the baby, who has not stopped crying.
My daughter wet herself and we don’t have a change of clothes.
We are frantic with worry and soon short of cash.
A grandmother in a wheelchair is sobbing while chewing the edge of her shawl.
There are bars on the high window of our cell.
They’ve given us blankets that look like sheets of foil.
We cannot see a road but know there is one because we hear passing vehicles.
On tiptoe, we can see the dark blue edge of a mountain in the distance.
The ominous curve of the moon.