Poetry Porch: Poetry


To an Asylum Seeker
By Barbara Sielgel Carlson

Iím parked outside the bank to deposit a check
listening to a manís voice on the radio
describing how he and his son lay on the floor, holding hands
while their captors discussed the price
of a boyís organs. The manís voice breaks.

Years ago, I remember hearing my daughterís breath
whistle in her chest during an asthma attack.
And that summer she got lost
on the beach. Yelling for her, I lost my voice
as the waves crashed.

Thereís a postcard of 45,000-year-old bone flute
above my desk. Long ago someone bore
two holes in an animal bone and blew through
to make a sound, not knowing who
might need to hear it now.

Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.