POEM FOR AYLAN KURDI
It is impossible for a wave to catch fire and burn.
There are no mines hidden in ebbing tides. There are no soldiers crouched in the surf.
The nature of the sea will not invade your living room space, it will not erase cultures, rip out your phone line or massacre families.
The sea wants healing. The sea gives salt.
Whales know nothing of guns or drones, dolphins will not imprison or interrogate uncles, fish will not violate women and coral will not call you what you are not.
The sea preserves with its depth and laments, its eyes a body of ancient tears.
It offers its skin to those running, those fleeing what it has never been. It is life, future, escape. Its politics transparent, its rhetoric fluid. It calls for trembling hands.
Fear is loaded and crammed on its back. Families huddled inside the shelter of prayer.
On a wooden float it carries hurting hearts to places which will not welcome their beat, where people are again met with further disdain and no entry and wait
while on the shore fall those the land betrayed, and like a series of lips the sea’s sombre crests swell up to kiss the final grace of a child who lays dreamless and unturned in the sand.