Dispossessed

DISPOSSESSED Running, Running… We are always running, running again. I clutch my son’s small hand, his fingernails drive into my palm. Running, Running again, and the cold is catching up to us. Every step is slippery, against the permafrost, and muddy sludge. Running, limping, run… What to tell my son. Do I make this a game? A lie, like Santa Claus or god? Running, and freezing. Breathing hurts, he’s hungry. I see my husband‘s Face, I can not look again! I must leave last looks behind … and run, leave him, memorize the love. I see the borderline, it’s tall whispering figures… they limp, sit or stoop. My son is tired and cold. My parents are back there. We had to leave them down below, in a subway dripping, and colorless. They can’t do the running now! The lines stretch for miles. People, my people, but alone, sick at heart. Sick at soul, but brave with fury, walking, pushing, barely standing. Are we men, are we eighteen, are we women, or children? The two of us don’t seem to know! In our mind, we’re still running … … running home, in our mind. -Edlynn Nau March 2, 2022