Excerpt from “Refugee Narrative”
Sketches
I sit on my bed,
facing my small window.
My pencil creates shapes that imitate the dark buildings.
My small piece of charcoal creates clouds,
puffy, but dense.
Then birds move through the clouds,
flying regally above the chaos.
Above the hunger.
Above the sorrow.
Above the death.
Worry
Father didn’t wake up.
That’s all I know.
He was taken away.
Mother left the house too.
My brothers and I are left at home.
Baby Miguel cries all day.
Brother Juan is left to watch us both.
He is only 14 years old.
He hates watching us.
I ask him where mama and papa went.
he doesn’t reply.
His face displayed a look of worry.
Neither of us have been this scared for father before.
We knew he was in danger.
Defeat
We heard a knock on the door.
Brother Juan peered through the peephole. He unlocked the double bolted door.
Mother’s silhouette appeared in the doorway…
Silence.
Her silhouette folded to its knees.
Silence.
I held my breath.
Was he gone?
Mother’s sobs answered my question.
I cried for days
and days…
and days…
My under-eyes became purple sacks,
Full of sorrow.
Our abuela had died of malaria too,
Only a few days after father.
Life couldn’t get any worse,
I wanted to disappear.
I’m sure death is better than this.
First father, then grandma,
who was next?
One of us?