by Diana Morley
The one with dyed blonde hair
decrees that in the new world order
immigrants—but only those
of color—will be swept up,
removed from a land no longer free
the decree rubs my skin raw,
sets ice in my belly
as my friend must now carry
her passport for officials
stopping her for her brown skin
this, after she’s known thinly veiled
correction, shunning and denial
of equal treatment for routine behavior,
a woman so strong, she holds in pain
holds in fury, then digests it all
through mastered meditation.
Diana Morley publishes poetry online and in journals. She published Spreading Like Water (2019), a chapbook; Splashing (2020), a poetry collection; and Oregon’s Almeda Fire: From loss to renewal (2021), a documentary of photos and poems.
