Spoonful: A Gathering of Stone Soup Poets

An extension of Cambridge's Stone Soup Poetry Venue.

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.