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Lorna Rose: Leaving Libya

September 9, 2022 by PBQ Leave a Comment

I flood my lungs 

with the wet stench of fish and bodies and fuel.

Dinghy motor whines against the night. 

 

Salt air grinds my skin ‘til it’s threadbare and

there’s no sitting since leaving Sabratha.

Body clenches tight to its bones 

 

and shrill muscles shriek and weep and lock up.

Damp t-shirt clings to goosebumped flesh under a

tattered orange life jacket. But what life? 

 

Next to me a shaking woman holds her boney baby

and cries. She has shit herself. 

Behind me a man mumbles and mumbles for water. 

 

His eyes roll hollow, 

mouth slacks open. 

From his breath 

 

I smell the thick stink of rot, 

the gray smell of 

forgotten humanity. 

 

Lights of the Italian coastline appear and

my heart races, 

vision blurs.

From somewhere behind there’s a jolt.

Yelling. 

Floor tilts. 

 

And the lights of Lampedusa go black. 

Filed Under: Issue 103, Poetry, Poetry 103 Tagged With: lorna rose

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