by Rachael Button

(responding to: Migrant crisis: How one city in Germany is coping)

Last night my husband and I held hands
and dreamed of a home
big enough to hold

the refugees
we’d seen
in videos
of Red Cross camps,
where too many children
line up for styrofoam boats of beans.

I watched a woman
in a headscarf
and a hoody
cradle an infant in overalls
and describe the rubber raft
that held her
when she crossed
on rolling waves
her son swaddled
in a life vest
twice his size.

And so,
my husband and I walked
toward our rented cabin
thinking about pain
that makes
a women brave enough
to step into a boat
that bounced beneath her weight.

But it’s easy to
give away
rooms we don’t have,
and holding Peter’s hand,
in the waning light
I knew we’d never be able to buy
a house
big enough–

our lamp lit windows
look so small
in a world that chases so many
so far
from home.

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