each day I enter with open / papers & snake the coiled
wires & barbed cattle chute / Qalandia / & bunker sand
-bagged heads / to study the very ground / & watch oneself
being watched / a ticking watch / other’s hands handing over
to red-haired & fretting / Uzi itchy with questions
& half a world / from his birth / a passportless plastic bag
scuds & tumbles past border / its blue flag blessed by wind /
O to be winged / & not locked in the fate of checkpoints
outside the milk of oxygen / held up / outside the /
in /no man’s / land / to lift outside gravity’s root & float
in the matrix / the mind a stone / bones grinding themselves
like teeth / in this mouth / vacuum-locked / suspended
till he gloves back / the papers / aviators glinting back
this alien’s alien face
Copyright © 2019 Philip Metres. This poem originally appeared in Kenyon Review, January/February 2019. Used with permission of the author.