The Memory of Place

That vacant lot in a desert
stretching between cities
where we walked the perimeter
inspecting each step instead of crossing blind
That taut line we held for our lives,
those windows, shuttered to our cries;
the faces that turned away in shame
That bridge we crossed
not knowing if it could hold the weight of our oppression.
The few who noticed and spoke up for us,
the few who risked their lives, who sheltered us.