Poem by Thea K. Scott

Photo by Cindy Williams



Turning Points

Morocco, 1987, fleeing with what we could carry
under a shimmer of amethyst skies, amid Arab dialect.
My children followed me on the street, trusting,
waiting in Casablanca hotels for a freedom flight.
I was fearless before that, willing to shape-shift,
to move on a whim with faith, belief in life,
with hope lingering from youth and naivete
and dreams that dreams would come true.
In Maroc I searched the rubble for my missing child
and marrow-deep fear changed color of amethyst air.
It altered weight and depth and taste of breath,
and clawed and cut; made marks you’ll never see.
Never a good night’s sleep since then, without memory
of chilly concrete floors, and terror...
of gendarmes sur les coins de rue, cradling Mini-14's, Kalishnikovs,
robed men twisting shadows in the medina.
Life’s bitter on the tongue, now with hope
and soul well twisted beyond shape.
And I’ve lost faith in what I ever was... watching graves,
feasting on the night.