Poem: Refugee

deep-blue

Refugee

The storm is in the distance.
You can see it,
dark clouds and the shadow of rain.
You can smell it,
dank and salty.

There is thunder and the wind blows
in your face, a sure sign
that soon it will arrive
with its anger and fury.
Waves will rise,

tossing remnants of the sea,
wreckage and corpses,
and for a day, perhaps a few
you will set about methodically
hauling away the jetsam.

But for now, the sun shines.
For now, the gulls cry out as they fish off shore,
and the sand is dry and warm,
and nearby a strong house waits for you,
strong and sure.

This is not your first storm.
You have borne many of them
stronger than this.You have proven yourself
a survivor,
and know even the worst weather passes.

You have the luxury then to watch the storm’s approach
without fear.
And it is a luxury, one achieved over time and scars,
a gathering of strength built on brokenness
that serves you, the eternal refugee, well.

One thought on “Poem: Refugee

  1. Oh, Tom, I love this!
    I have been back in Arkansas for a couple of weeks with Dad, 82, dementia, and I am overwhelmed. The guilt of living so far away, treating Dad like a small job because that’s what he has become.
    Going back to Texas soon and worried.
    Yet another storm.
    Syl

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