Refugee

The young man's on the platform,
Toward the back. The stairs are
Close at hand. He wants to be
Invisible. It's late, and, since
So few are near, he's not. His
Skin is dark, his hair too thick
Beneath the cap he found. He
Cannot read what's written on
It. Back home, half his family's
Dead, his mother and one brother,
And his father, maybe. No one
Knows. The gunmen put him in
Their car, then drove off. That
Was months ago. His sister's
Being held somewhere, or was.
He's been away for weeks, in
Hiding when the sun was up,
And walking, running, in the
Night, dodging guards and
Crossing borders, wishing he
Had more to eat, and now he's
One train from his goals: to
Reach the north and plead his
Case, to wipe away the images
Of blood and ruin, to be done
With loss, to try to build again.
He hears the roar inside the
Tunnel, watches as the train
Arrives, and stops, and opens
All its doors. He starts to walk,
But not too quickly, hoping he's
Invisible as two policemen
Show up on the stairs.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 59 times
Written on 2015-06-11 at 15:08

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