The debris rose from the fire
the air thickened with the name of God
I missed it by a mile or two
far out where the land had begun to expire.
I rode my family’s last surviving vehicle
And all my belongings traded for board
with my mother’s three thousand lulls
our memories thrashing around in the water, cold.
They catch you on the streets of Izmir
We will catch a cold in this downpour
they know you by the chains you drag here and even there
they don’t know if we’ll survive the White night
Forty swollen eyes in a twelve-seat bus, blackened windows
Fifty-four on a flimsy rubber dinghy
We shared a vision of green Europe and its snows
We will parcel the algae.
“It should take around an hour.”
Had the night not been this long
They left us and had the Afghan work the motor
but only the currents carried us, each a lamb led to the slaughter
We held the crying children with the salt in their eyes
The sea salted the wounds in the rubber
We had the Mediterranean reprise the name of God
and we all toppled to sea.