Notice of Reaction

I dug myself into this home
as the law of its land
            tossed the security
            of my sanity.
I am at the border
of the immigration system.
Every year a woman at the DMV blinks,
then stares at the documents
            in my hand,
            revisits her memory:
            you look familiar.
I am I-821 and I-765, 
or a half-hour morning drive
to paper the walls of the cramped
space of a Salvadoran consulate,
where I am stripped of patience—
we count time by the growl
of our stomachs; this, every
eighteen months of our lives.
Proceed to verify and fingerprint me.
I do not reserve the right to plan dreams
to pick up the passport,
for my wings have not
been legislated.
I will not take flight today.
God-blessed. I am not


Photography Credit: Becky Davis

Claudia Rojas is a poet whose work has appeared in The Acentos Review, Poetry Is Dead, Argot Magazine, and The Northern Virginia Review, among others.