–Lines–


The friend of my eleventh grade English teacher wrote this poem about the Refugee crisis.






    Dedicated:  Happy birthday to the Sunset One, who taught me to look between the lines of words, the lines of art, the lines of miles, and the space between the lines of our beliefs. Happy Birthday a year ago today, when we called for the first time, now we don’t talk at all.

I fancy that we aren’t in battle, just confused-broken souls wandering between the quiet silence of the space between lines, not knowing what to call the cracks in our hearts because we don’t want to see them as divides.






Lines

by Sara de Waal, September 16, 2015

Lines.

Lines along chain-link fences.

Lines unbecoming

lines

and becoming

a million

exposed

dots.

If you look closely

at the broken

lines of broken

humanity,

all the dots

have faces,

and hands

that reach        

across the

line of wire,

line of fire,

line of water,

for freedom

on the other side

of the line.

Lines.

Lines of stars.

Lines making the shape

of a drinking gourd

in the sky—

contours

that I can’t make out

because of the smoke

from burning trees;

because I am too busy

to look up;

because I don’t understand

stars;

because I don’t know how to

connect the dots

so that the gourd

will hold water.

and lead them all home.

Lines.

Lines down the middle

of falling leaves.

Conflicted symmetry.

One color

against

another,

arguing

across

a thick divide.

A border—

A vein that

once

gave

life

to both sides.












 

 

 

 

 

 

r h t

 

 

 

 

 


















 

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