An officer boards
Gripping gun handle.
Passeport, mercì.
Passeport, mercì.
Clears five rows
Two minutes.

In front of me,
A wedding-mehndied hand
Lifts a green passport;
Officer flips every page,
Radios,
Holds her picture next to
Her lifted chin.
She adjusts hijab.
She has been here before.
He radios.
She explains
In immaculate French.
She has been here before.

Eight minutes 
Before he clears her,
Flinging the passport at her lap,
Moving on to me.
He flips one page,
merci.

It is my first time here.
I cannot translate the words
That need to be spoken,
Especially not
Mercì, but
In every language
Reverberates
Shameful silence.