The Refugees

  No one was
alone
  in that sea
of starfish

though few
names
had been
spoken,

tumbling in
empty rain
and rolling
roaring waves.

Clothes, shoes,
money were lost
by the time
the new land

appeared
and the storm
blissfully
stopped.

The moon lit
the sea,
and recognised
the soft, pink ones

as hers.

She gave them names
that could not
be taken or spoken
but were known.

Star hand in
star hand
they walked
to shore
together.

I wrote this poem about five times, all different- I couldn’t settle on one. I hope this one will do justice to something- I was thinking about refugees coming across the sea and thinking about loss and grace and gain all at the same time.

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