I Offered My Hand

I offered my hand

The first time I met my case worker

She did not take it

And still she sanitized her hands

Armed officers stand at every door

We have little more than the clothes on our backs

A gloved hand presses my finger into an ink-bar

Then presses my fingerprint on a piece of paper

I look into a screen and my picture is taken

I look like someone I knew

Only colder

Notes:

This poem is part of the folio “Broken Lines: A Gathering of Exiled Poets,” curated by Laura Kraftowitz and Edward Salem. Read the rest of the folio in the July/August 2026 issue of Poetry.

Source: Poetry (July/August 2026)