Convocation

At the border they demanded our dreams,
our penciled plans, hair samples, any extra love.
While we stood in shocked shame,
they flipped through our private journals,
sketchbooks, demanded to know what these 
were. Were we professional artists, and could
we provide the proper paperwork? The student
debt would have to be repaid, effective immediately.
They poked flashlights into the corners of our skulls
and found there clean houses, children with straight teeth.
Laughing, they confiscated these thoughts. If you
can’t pay the fine, well, you needn’t carry these.
Stripped of all fantasies, we were allowed through
one at a time, warned not to dabble in such indulgences.
On the other side, they said, things would be different. 
We were no longer our parents’ children. Now 
we belonged to them.

2008