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I met two boys from Sarajevo
Greyhound Terminal, San Antonio,
July 2007.
They had just arrived from Laredo Detention Centre,
three years in the slammer
their reward for refugee status.
Suddenly freed, they seek links with vague relations in New York City.
We shared a meal while waiting for connections,
they struggled with the language
and the staccato messages from black porters
who advised them their bus was delayed.
I learnt they were cousins.
their crime;
witnessing the execution of their fathers when they were six!.
I board my bus to Houston,
look back and wave inadequately
to two boys from Sarajevo
who stare silently in the fluorescent glare,
wondering what wolf pack will invade this night.
And meanwhile,
in another world,
two mothers weep silent tears
into the Adriatic Sea.
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