Nothing We Can Do

A poem inspired by a dream about trying to rescue refugees.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

I dream that we are running
on a pebbled beach
the wind throwing our hair backwards
into chaotic spirals
every stride crunching deeper
grinding harder
Your voice echoes that you can
see them
while salty gales sting my eyes
blurring my vision
I breathe deeper
it fills my ears
harsh, raspy, quick.

My knees slide to a halt
their bodies hang limp
over a deflating raft
orange and black
I don’t really notice the ocean’s
weight on my legs
as I pull him towards me
forgetting that he should be too heavy
to carry through waves
that hold onto one another
folding inwards
I hurl his body onto pebbles
where they darken
under the wetness

and my hands sink into him
skin turned PVC perfect
something chokes my throat
I try to cry out
my scream can’t pierce the wind

Your voice comes back
to me in loud ricochets
that there’s nothing we can do…

Kirsty-Louise is a published author and poet with a BA hons in English Literature. Working as a Secondary English Teacher, dog walks on the coast, and reading books pass her time in Ramsgate & Margate.

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