CN: today’s concentration camps


The row of buses drive up to
what was a Walmart once.
Leaning out the first bus door,
Hermes, Latino today,
tips His hat and grins.

The row of buses drive up to
the fenced-in rows and rows of tents
beneath the desert sun.
Leaning out the first bus door,
Hermes tips His hat and grins.

Not a man among the guards
has time to aim his gun.
They fall, each and every one,
to arrows falling from the sun
and quarter moon above.

Grapevines crawl the walls and gates,
ivy grows at breakneck pace,
weighing down the metal,
wearing down the manmade stone,
till there’s only poles and pebbles.

Ares pilots helicopters
watching silent from above,
and beside Him, Ares waits in case
there’s need of gunfire from the air.

Aphrodite calms the girls
and promises She’ll find
somewhere safe for every one.
Siblings stay together, friends must stay nearby.
Artemis gathers up the babes,
Apollon calms the boys.

Dike and winged Nike, Eunomia, Eirene,
rush the children onto buses.
As each fills, Hermes drives off.

Many homes across the land
are open to these children,
and in each Hera waits, and Zeus,
to be parents—best They might—
to these children who fear nothing more
than another shattered world.

Demeter and Poseidon, too,
to be aunt and uncle to each child
who needs a someone there,
and Herakles and Hebe wait,
each ready to become the friends
if needed and if wanted
that each of these young freed ones craves.
Hestia has ready made
the foods of comfort, foods of home.

Melpomene operates
the camera for Kalliope,
Who narrates each event
from a poetic distance.
In ASL, Terpsikhore
dances out the words.
Euterpe types the subtitles;
Ourania makes sure the livestream
plays without a hitch.

Kleio collects the records,
every photo,
every word,
and every byte.

When each prison stands at last
empty save the guards,
Athena raises high Her sword
and gestures.
Lightning falls.

The people who are only
(as said so many Nazis)
following the orders
they were given
were not ordered to record
which child, which parent
go together.

There are thousands.

Erato grabs one sad María,
her solemn man Pedro,
and rushes them as fast She might
to where She’ll meet Thaleia.

Thaleia asks one crying Carmen
to release, or bring with her,
her cage-mate friend Asunción.
To come with Thaleia—no harm
will come to them, She promises,
She swears it on the water
of the River Styx,
the river that Persephone
and Haides would not allow
the crossing of by any of
the children like Carmen so brave
and strong Asunción
until these children could be free.

Carmen and Asunción
follow Thaleia, shaking hand
in sweat-damp hand.
Thaleia spies Erato in the crowd,
and hails Her,
and María looks up—
she stares—
she shrieks her daughter’s name.
Carmen runs, Asunción
tugged hurriedly along.
Pedro hugs María close.
María opens up her arms.


Artistic work is work. Supporting the arts means paying the artists. Support Alexeigynaix here. Please note that your support is in response to “Deliverance”, so Alex can budget accordingly—half the proceeds from this poem will be donated to RAICES Texas or a similar organization working to free these children and reunify these families, or to the pizza fund for the protestors in Portland, Oregon pointedly ensuring ICE employees can’t get home to theirs.


Author: alexeigynaix

Queer, genderqueer, neurodivergent, disabled Celtic-American poet, fantasy writer, fiber crafter, visual artist, and intersectional feminist activist. Hellenion clergy education student.

One thought on “Deliverance”

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