Thursday, November 17, 2011


Transit camps dispersed, overland to Basra,
over seas, watching for tell tale periscopes,

to Karachi. Hints of permanence, schools
needing teachers, an offer of employment

in the French Embassy. Reined in tight,
too young, too soon. On the move again,

East Africa. First sight of Fort Jesus’s lowering
face. The first link breaks, reaching the age

of majority. Instant reaction, sign on the dotted
line, no longer the child, fresh faced recruit

of the Polish Air Force, one of the girls,
there in the hangar of hanging silk,

folding, packing, stacking, preparing
for you, who floated to earth near

Pegasus Bridge, or you who drifted too far
at Arnhem, shattering continental chains.

This takes my Mother from Tehran to East Africa via Karachi and links to continuing events in Europe.

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