What did you expect to see,
the loves of your life, the green river banks,
your fragile babies, the strong arms of your sons?
It was over and you knew it. All that was left
was bones, burnt buildings, cursed soil.
All that was left was salt: you either become it
or you cry it. Either way it dries you up in the end.
Not looking back would have been worse,
the years of grief, the arthritic joints, the slow desiccation.
Be thankful, one glance
was enough. And then it was over.
Not a new poem. I thought I’d share some that I wrote a while back with different takes on various Bible stories. This one is also inspired by the understanding that when refugees are fleeing their homelands they always look back.