Written by Name
by Frances Timberlake, Refugee Women’s Centre
The name lands on the pavement
slapped down
like spilt water
A person
a body
a name
tumbling from this young boy’s mouth
like
spilt water
Like a
splash
from the Black Sea waters the man drowned in four months ago
as the young boy sat watching with the other passengers aboard.
A splash
hitting the pavement now
hitting my throat
from his throat
as the boy tells me
about their sea journey
and the moments that were this name’s last.
Expecting justice.
Hoping for memory.
Who told the mother?
‘He was a good man’ the young boy says,
conscious that the name is all that remains
of a life,
all that remains now
on this dirty street in France.
A person
a body
a name
His name
left lying now in the rain.
It slips from my grasp and still now lies, sodden
on the street in France.
No gravestone
to mark
the name.
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You can read more of our creative pieces by visiting our Creative Archive, as well as our Translations of Displacement series.
Featured Image: Looking upwards one evening in Baddawi Camp, North Lebanon (c) E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh. Jan 2017.
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