Patriot Act Poem by MARINA GIPPS

I am congratulated by my inner self.
(For admission does not come easy.)
How many terrorist cells
within my own body?
A child cries in my arms, yet
I am cradling myself, needing
to escape, unperceived,
like the molerat in the south of France
under the parisien tablecloth,
helping herself
to a smidgeon of french bread.
Seamless sky, let me sew
your clouds together
for the ultimate rain over my field,
awaiting war heroes falling,
fetal positioned, from another galaxy.