Member-only story
(with gratitude and apologies to Emma Lazarus)
A gift from France, she yet stands by the sea.
Her torch of freedom, once held high above
Has, like her people, quite forsaken love.
Its flame’s gone out; there is no liberty
For huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
For wretched refuse of a teeming shore,
For those of color, homeless, and the poor
The golden door is shut; their family
Asunder torn by agents who detain;
The kids in cages put, perhaps never
To see their parents yet again; the pain
Of loss that endures may be forever.
What madness has come over us, what bane?
Can we be forgiven? Perhaps ever.