REFUGEE
half way around the world
you traveled
to live
in the land of the free
it did not matter
that the four room flat
they gave you
had scum on the wall
and filthy floors 1
after all
you slept
for four years
coveriess
bones on the dirt
under Pol Pot
and you survived
two years of torture
in the prison
guilty of nothing
but being educated
all those 17 years
you fought for justice
behind that badge
and you never thought
you'd ever see
the law
imprisoned
but there you were
on the other side of the bars
thinking only
of survival
always
of survival
you never even winced
when you had to deny
all that you were
to be selfrighteous
meant certain death
better to lie
to the mindless
and live
than to die needlessly
from arrogance
and the constant stench
and moaning
of the dying
pleasing
for a few grains of rice
did not discourage you
but instead
gave you strength
to endure
and courage
to stay among the living
your life
even in isolation was not
just your own
you had your wife
and six children
to consider
and they
were all starving
and waiting
praying
for you to return
you had to hold on
to the strength
within you
and not give in
to that iron voice
choking your throat
nor the deafening pain in your groin you could not allow your spirit to be broken
and when the day finally can-when another enemy set you free you were numb strange
how life-long enemies become allies when faced
with common destruction your cell was opened it did not matter how and you were too frail to contemplate it so shattered and scattered from the past you thought only of the present thought only of piecing
your fragmented family back together amidst the chaos and moving on through the night in the crossfire past the mass graves of rotting flesh over landmines and foot traps where relatives and close friends lay hidden beneath
their bodies impaled
on bamboo spears
there was no time
to look back
for you
child in arms
were too busy
avoiding bullets
too busy praying
that your atrophied legs
would not hit
one of the blind strings
in the darkness
the blind strings
tied to hand grenades
and you were fortunate
to miss them
but others
were not so
and you followed
the path of their bodies
and slept
among their ghosts
all the way
to the border
all the long way
to the border
and for the past
thirteen months
you've been here
trying to make this place
your home
you brought with you
few possessions
but carried your valuables
within you
and they were there
the night
the hoodlums came
barging through your door
demanding to take your son
he did not know his place
he did not understand
that saying, "shut up"
was a criminal offense
in the eyes
of the aggravators
and they
would not listen to reason
though you tried
to make them hear
experience
should have reminded you
that true blind men
have no ears
and the neighborhood gestapo
was no different
the next day
they returned
all fired
with the passion
of power
more determined than ever
to break you
to take you and your son
one threw a rock
through your window
just missing your baby
asleep on the floor
while the others ganged up
to beat you
in broad daylight
in front of the neighbors
and you hardly
felt the pain
though you mourn
the loss of your t-shirt
the gift from your students
at school
but it was not the beating
that beat you
nor the indifference
of the police
it was only
your children's expressions
and the threats
to your first son's life
that spread that look of anguish
across your weary face
and you came here
so tired of oppression
so tired
wanting only
to live in peace
to live
like a priest
and purify your soul
and you want no revenge
you ask for nothing
but to be left alone
and once more
you gather your family
to make plans
to escape in the night
Ruth DeWilde