my sisters breathe life 
into one another and breathe life 
into me 

the borders written by my fathers 
struck through my mothers 
as if they were a rough draft 

our separation is manufactured 
our separation is real 
as real as the people 
but incomplete as a draft 
breaking the land does not 
cut through the air 

my sisters can drink in the light of the aurora 
and stir the wind with an exhale 
and live off the fat of the sea 
until the sapping of the ocean 
leaves us with no sustenance 
but the soft chicka-dee-dee-dee 
of another bird named for its call 

my sisters remain unfazed, untouched 
by an autumn frost 
if only we were unfazed, untouched 
by man 

and with their last breath 
my sisters paint a poem 
and you want it to tell a story 
and it does 
and you want us to die 
and if we do 
how long until the story dies 
and you declare victory