World's End

Waiting at the border, she affords herself the luxury of a metaphor:

she stands at the edge of the flat earth,

the world of her dead father’s country behind her,

free fall fate ahead, as if by surrendering herself

to this unknown, she can relent a little, fill her lungs,

feel a little looked after by the blindness to come.

She blinks and – as she scans the rifled men’s tired eyes –

catches herself at mental play. Knees still lock

and seize after months of the smallest nooks;

realisations pepper her now, and relief rushes into pain.

Forcing a placid grin at the guards, she curses

the brink that lets her see and feel herself again:

“…they know I know, they know I know…” plays over in her head

as she trips slowly into warm space.